


To Keep You Warm

by jumblebumps



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Deviates From Canon, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Mental Health Issues, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2018-12-23 22:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 57,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11999436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumblebumps/pseuds/jumblebumps
Summary: "Kid, you can't keep doing shit like this!" he hissed, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Look, I don't know what things were like in that box of yours, but I'm just gonna say this once: you can't light yourself on fire to keep other people warm. You gotta look after yourself first, or else you'll get eaten alive."--------------Angharad has spent most of her life protecting someone else. Even when she's not in the Vault with Amata anymore, it's still something she can't just turn off, no matter how close to self destruction it takes her.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly a vanity fic that resulted from my overthinking the plot of Fallout 3 before starting an RP playthrough. Also an attempt to fix some of the things that irritated me about the game/flesh out the annoyingly vague bits. Will mostly follow the path of the canon at the beginning, but as things continue there will be more and more deviations. Tags will be updated as needed, and only major or frequently recurring characters will get a tag. I have no idea how long this is going to be, but as things currently stand it's already shaping up to be long af, so kudos to whoever reads/sticks around for the whole thing.
> 
> Also, I will follow this ship into hell. Amata deserved better. LW deserved better. They deserved better together.

Catherine was dead. The love of his life, the most brilliant and wonderful person he had ever met... She was gone. It still didn't feel real, she'd just been there with him yesterday... Then she went into labor in the evening and in the morning...

It felt like God was saying he could only ever have one woman in his life at a time.

James wasn't sure if he believed in God. To him, the word's persistence in the Wasteland was an artifact from the pre-War era, a time when people could afford widespread belief in such a thing. Sure, there were a few cults and pseudo-religious sects remaining, but nothing so unified as what once existed.

He was pretty sure Catherine had believed, though. Revelation 21:6 was more than just a line to her. Once, he’d heard her call it her reason for being, and the meaning she’d been taught to see in the book it came from wasn’t something she could abandon so easily as her childhood faction. She'd never showed it to him, but more than once he'd glimpsed her with a little dog-eared Bible that was just barely being held together by its binding. Where was it now? In their room, he supposed, but he wasn't sure he could bring himself to go back in there. Of course, he was going to have to eventually. That was where they had everything they'd prepared for the baby.

The baby... James looked down at the little bundle held close to his chest. Her name was Angharad, Angharad Lewis. It wasn't a name James himself had ever heard of, but Catherine was in love with it, had been ever since she found it in a pre-War book once when she was a child. To her young self, it had sounded like a fairy name, something delicate and magical that otherwise only existed in her imagination and old books. As she grew older, the name took on a different kind of significance; it was a remnant from a time where life was better, safer, where people could do more than just barely survive. Catherine, and James, too, had hoped that with Project Purity, they would be able to create a world where such a name might be appropriate. Where their child would be safe.

But now Catherine was gone and he was on his own with a baby to think about. He couldn't afford to think about the bigger dream. He had to focus all his energies on the baby sleeping fitfully in his arms. She was so...wiggly, even when she slept, and every little jolt and twitch sent a new wave of panic over him that only subsided once she settled. He must have taken her pulse a dozen times in the past hour, terrified that whatever had caused her mother's demise might visit on her. So far, though, she was perfect. Tiny, delicate, and perfect. James leaned down to gently kiss Angharad's forehead. She smelled sweet, somehow. She had little wisps of hair already--blonde, despite her dark-haired parents--and blue eyes that were brighter than his, but he could imagine how Catherine might have cooed about how the baby “just looks so much like her daddy.” James would have said how he couldn’t see it--the baby was so fair and bright, she didn’t look much like either of them. Then Catherine would tut and begin to point out little soft, rounded imitations within Angharad’s delicate features. She had Catherine's nose and his ears and mouth, which for the most part was twisted up in an infantile grimace, but he could see the ghosts of Catherine’s dimples in her cheeks. She wasn't fond of the brahmin milk, but it was the best James could do for her. He smoothed a rough hand over Angharad's head, marvelling at the delicacy of her skin and hair. She was so soft and lovely and delicate and precious... It hurt knowing that Catherine never even got to hold her.

There was a sound from the doorway and James looked up at Madison Li, shifting awkwardly. "We're... We're ready to bury her," she said.

James blinked. "Already?" How? Was she even cold yet?

Madison nodded. "Some Brotherhood soldiers dug the grave. It's... It's a nice spot, she'll be close. You can see the purifier."

James felt his chest constrict and unconsciously hugged the baby tighter. Angharad stirred and started to fuss. "I see..."

Madison's face softened. "Here, James, let me take her." She held out her arms for the baby and James reluctantly handed her over. His arms felt wrong once they were empty. Madison cradled the baby gently, cooing to her and smiling. Angharad quieted quickly and stared at her, obviously enthralled. With the baby content, Madison looked back to James. "Do you want to be there?"

No, he didn't. Not really. But he should be there, for Catherine. For Angharad. He took a shaky breath and nodded a little. "I'll go."

"You don't have to if it's too much."

"No, no, I'll go." James got up from his chair with what felt like shaky legs. He didn't want to see them put Catherine in the ground. He really didn't.

Madison could tell, but she didn't comment on it again. Instead, she handed the baby back to him and led him outside to the little knoll where they were going to bury Catherine. It had to be a ways back from the waterline, otherwise the ground would eventually flood, but James wished they could bury her closer to the Jefferson Memorial. It would be easier to mark her grave. They wouldn't be able to put much of a marker up, otherwise someone would try to dig her up to steal anything she was buried with. It wouldn't matter that no one buried anyone with anything anymore for that very reason, just the possibility would be enough. Making something so emotional so pragmatic stung James now more than it ever had.

A few paladins stood around the grave where a body wrapped in a white sheet lay on the ground. James was almost surprised that they'd thought to cover her, but was thankful for it. He handed Angharad to Madison again so that he could kneel to uncover Catherine's face. He almost didn't want to look--he'd seen the way a painful death could twist a person's features and was afraid he'd have to see Catherine that way. Bracing himself, he moved the fabric to the side and was surprised by how...peaceful she looked. As if she were asleep. Feeling a fresh wave of grief twisting at his insides, he leaned forward to gently kiss her forehead.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, the first in what would be a nineteen year long string of futile apologies and one-sided conversations. James smoothed his wife's hair back for one last time before he covered her face back and went to hold his daughter. He stood silently beside Madison, watching as the paladins lowered Catherine into the ground. Angharad woke again and started crying as they began to toss dirt into the grave. Despite knowing how dangerous it was to let a baby make so much noise in the Wasteland, James didn't have the heart to silence her. He wanted to scream and cry with her.

* * *

It was hours after the burial before someone came to find him. James had worked up the courage to take Angharad back to the room he once shared with Catherine, to put her in the crib they'd prepared. While the infant slept, James sat on the bed nursing a bottle of scotch. He'd expected the first person he'd see would be Madison.

"Doctor Lewis?"

No, it was Paladin Cross, the only Brotherhood of Steel soldier James had ever had a decent conversation with. She had been present at the burial, and now was perhaps the first time he had seen her wearing something other than armor. It was still a uniform--that odd jumpsuit thing the paladins all seemed to wear under their armor and in their off hours--but it was the most informal she'd ever been around one of the scientists. Except for Catherine, probably. His wife had been fascinated by Cross' cybernetic enhancements and had spent hours picking her brain for information about the tech. Cross had tolerated the curiosity of an outsider far more than most of the soldiers would have. That went double considering Cross knew where Catherine was from. James had attributed it to Catherine's almost childlike, infectious enthusiasm. Sometimes, he felt like it made her actually glow.

"How...how are you holding up?" Cross asked, cautiously breaching the doorway. She saw the bottle and sighed. "About as well as you can, I see."

"Do you need something?" James asked. He wasn't really in the mood to talk.

"I just wanted to make sure you two were all right," Cross said, stepping in a little further. When James didn't stop her, she went to the side of Angharad's crib. "How's the little one? What's her name?"

"Angharad."

"Old name," Cross commented, reaching down with an ungloved hand to pet the baby's head. She was a tall woman with broad hands rough from practice in battle, but her movements were exceptionally careful and delicate with the baby. "It's beautiful."

"Catherine picked it. It's her favorite." James was too drained to have much emotion left in his voice, so his self-correction came out flat. "Was her favorite."

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," Cross offered. "I'm going to miss her. Everyone will."

"Thank you." James looked down at his bottle, then back over at Cross and Angharad. "I'm... What do you think... What would Catherine say if I left? I don't know if she'd forgive me..."

That got Cross' attention and she looked up, eyebrow raised. "Left?"

"Left Project Purity. I... I know it was her dream,” no, it had been everything to her for so long, “but... So was Angharad..."

The soldier seemed to understand. "The Wastes are a terribly dangerous place for a child," she said. "For anyone. If something were to go wrong, either one or both of you could be killed."

"I can't lose our daughter, too. I can't."

"Where would you go? Rivet City? Megaton?"

"Not quite..." James looked over at the table where he'd pulled out a map of the Capital Wasteland. On it, he'd plotted a path from the purifier, across the Potomac, to Megaton, then to...

"There's a Vault, over near Megaton. There's still people there," James said. "They keep their door shut, mostly, but...maybe I can get them to let us in. Or to at least take Angharad..."

"You'd give up your child?"

"If that's what it takes to keep her safe, yes."

The room was silent for a moment. "Catherine...would understand, I think," Cross eventually said. She sighed and turned her head back to watching the baby sleep. "You'll want some help, I imagine. Protection?"

"I was going to see if I could hire some mercenaries."

"Or you could take me," Cross offered, cracking a smile. "I've been told I'm a decent shot, I don't need to eat or sleep, and I imagine a six-foot-tall woman wearing power armor and carrying a big gun would be one hell of an effective deterrent to raiders."

James made a sound that was strange to his own ears and it took him a second to realize he'd just laughed. "You'd do that?"

"Of course. Catherine was my friend, and I'd like to think you are as well."

James wanted to hug her, but instead offered his best smile and held his hand out to shake hers. "Thank you."


	2. Vault Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the little extra explanations of things, I'm getting a friend to beta this and she's never actually played Fallout. And I like them.

The fact that some people seemed to be able to remember every single minute detail from their lives sometimes confused Angharad. Her memories of growing up in Vault 101 were more like clips or snapshots than a straight roll of film. There were long periods of time she remembered very little about because nothing worth remembering happened. These were interspersed with brilliant, bright flashes that varied in length.

Her earliest such memory was from when she was very small, probably four or five. She was sitting at her father's desk in the clinic, kicking her legs back and forth in his too-big chair as she colored. Dad finished seeing his patient and came back over to hug her and kiss her cheek.

“What are you drawing, honey?” he asked. His hand on her back was so big it bridged the gap between her shoulders. It was comforting, secure.

Angharad beamed up at him and showed him her scribbles. “It's us, see?” She began pointing with short, uncoordinated fingers. “That's me and that's you!” She pointed to a poorly drawn girl dressed in blue with yellow hair then to a taller figure with black hair.

“I see! Very good!” Dad looked closer. “Who's this? In the back?”

Angharad was quiet for a moment. It was a third figure, similarly dressed in blue with darker skin and black hair. “Mommy…”

“Oh… I see…”

“Do you ever miss her?”

The question had caught him off guard and he sputtered like a scratched holodisk for a second. “Your mommy? Angharad…” He pulled her into a close hug. “Of course I miss her, every day more than the last.”

Angharad had hugged him back, putting her head on his shoulder, breathing in his scent. They'd sat like that until Jonas came in, bringing Dad a stack of papers to look over.

* * *

“Hey, nosebleed! Whatcha got there?!” Butch DeLoria leaned over Angharad’s shoulders to snatch her comic book from her hands. “Oh, sweet! _Grognak the Barbarian: Issue 7!_ I’ve been lookin’ for this!”

“That’s MINE, Butch!” Six year old Angharad got to her feet to try to snatch back her comic, but Butch put his hand on her face and pushed her back down while holding the disputed comic above his head.

"Nuh-uh! 'S mine now!" Butch declared, grinning.

"Give it back!"

"Make me!" It was a confident challenge; he'd known Angharad his whole life, after all. "Yer not gonna, are you? Teacher's pet! Little nerd! You ain't got what it takes!"

Angharad's eyes seemed to get bigger and shinier. Little Amata rushed to her side to pull her friend into a hug before she started crying. "Give it back, Butch!" she said, as sternly as a tiny six year old girl could manage.

It must not have been particularly impressive; Butch snorted and his friends chuckled behind him. "Or what? You'll run and tattle to daddy? Get us in trouble with the Overseer?"

Amata's cheeks reddened and she cowed back, embarrassed as she always was even then when someone accused her of using her father's position to get special treatment. Angharad gripped her arm as she started to sniffle and Amata hugged her tighter in response. Butch regarded them with a satisfied sneer and turned to leave with his friends and his stolen prize.

Later, when Angharad went back to her and her father's apartment, she told him about what had happened with Butch.

"Why's he so mean to me?" she whimpered.

Dad sighed, appearing to think carefully about his response before he spoke. "Butch... Butch is a bully. Sometimes when there's something bothering someone, they lash out at others instead of dealing with it."

"How to I make him stop?"

"That's...difficult..." Dad sat down on the bed next to her and hugged her close. "At the end of the day, whatever someone does or doesn't do is up to them. Ultimately, you are only in control of your own actions." When Angharad gave him a look that was somewhere between confusion and annoyance, he chuckled. "You can't make Butch do anything, but you can change how you react."

"What should I do?"

“Don't let him bully you. Stand up for yourself, or fight back. You need to be your own best ally.”  
Angharad looked up at her dad. “...Can't you help me?”

Dad smiled a little. “Of course I can, but I won't always be there to fight your battles for you. You need to build up your own strength so one day you can be your own person.” He petted her hair. “Now, that doesn't mean I don't want you to come to me if you need help. Okay? If there's ever anything you can't handle, come to me or another adult for help.”

Angharad nodded. “Okay.”

* * *

“Angharad, honey, when I said to fight back against Butch, I didn't mean for you to do it literally…”

Angharad hissed in pain and recoiled from his touch. “Ow!”

“Sorry, honey, this is going to sting a little bit.”

It had scarcely been a week after Dad had told her to stand up for herself when Angharad got into her first real fistfight. Butch had tried to steal her teddy bear, but Angharad had managed to find the strength not to cower down and cry. Instead, she defiantly demanded the return of her property, all of it, actually. Butch and his friends had laughed at her, tauntingly asking how she was gonna make him. Huffing, Angharad stomped over to try to snatch the toy back and, when Butch tried his favorite tactic of putting his hand on her face, she slapped it away. In the heat of the moment, Angharad wasn't sure how exactly the situation had escalated into blows, but the fight ended with Angharad getting beaten up. Although she did manage to get her bear back in the end. And, after Amata had ran and gotten the grownups to pull the boy off her friend, Angharad got her comic back from him, too. She guessed Butch’s mom was trying to apologize to her dad for Butch splitting open Angharad's lip and eyebrow.

Dad had been concerned when she was brought into the clinic, but that quickly shifted to exasperation when he found out how she got it. He gave Butch a cold pack for the slight swelling in his cheek and sent him home, but he kept Angharad to apply some medicine to her injuries. The alcohol he used to clean the wounds stung so he tried to work quickly.

“I didn't _mean_ to fight him,” Angharad whined. “He's the one who hit me!”

Dad sighed. “You hit him, too.”

“Because he hit _me!_ ”

"Sweetheart, you need to try to use your words."

Angharad made a face. "I did! I always do! This is the first time I've gotten him to give my stuff back!" Admittedly, it was because a third party had gotten involved that she did, but this was her first fight. She'd just have to make sure she won the next time.

Her dad looked conflicted. He opened his mouth to speak, then shut it and thought again. Angharad would find herself wondering a lot about everything he'd wanted to say but couldn't one day. She would imagine, later, that maybe he had wanted to admit that sometimes words wouldn't work, that with some people the only language they understand is violence. Maybe he'd wanted to tell her about the dangers of raiders in the Wasteland, or even about the super mutants and feral ghouls. But then, if everything had gone according to his plan, she never would have had to know about any of those, would she? There was no reason to prepare her for a violent world when the Vault was relatively peaceful.

Dad sighed and shook his head a little, sitting back as he finished tending to Angharad's battle wounds. "You know, I always thought I'd have to worry about my son getting into fights, not my daughter," he said tiredly.

Angharad gave him a cheeky grin. "That's messed-up, Daddy," she teased. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that.”

That caught him by surprise, making him laugh in bewilderment. "What? Who’s the adult here? Me or you?”

Angharad giggled.

* * *

The first time Angharad got into a fight for Amata was when they were about seven or eight. It wasn't the fight with Butch she remembered so much as it was the aftermath. Officer Gomez had been the one to pull the kids apart and immediately brought them to the clinic. Dad was in with a patient, so Mr. Gomez had sat them down in the waiting area and stood across from them to make sure they behaved themselves.

“We're going to get the doc to look at both of you, then I'm taking you to your mother, Butch. Angharad, I'm sure your father will have something to say about you fighting again.”

Angharad had crossed her arms across her chest and shrugged, looking over at Butch. Even then, before she'd had a chance to look in a mirror, Angharad had guessed she and Butch had matching black eyes. She could barely open her left one, it was so swollen and painful. Her hair had been pulled out of its neat ponytail during the fight with wisps of hair clinging to the sweaty sides of her forehead and getting in her eyes. Other than that and some bloody knuckles from punching Butch in the teeth, her only other injury was her left cheek was maybe a little swollen.

Compared to Butch, she had come out nearly unscathed. Butch’s black eye looked like he couldn't even open it to the slit Angharad could manage and the bruising travelled along the side of his face towards his hairline. His nose had only ceased bleeding when Officer Gomez instructed him to stuff bits of tissue up into the offending nostril, and his lower lip had split and swollen. There was probably going to be more facial swelling in his cheeks than in Angharad's, too. She'd have been lying if she said there hadn't been a swell of pride in her chest when she looked at her handiwork.

"All right, who's my next pat--oh no..." Dad had come out to the waiting area to see who was waiting and groaned when he saw the two children. "Angharad...! What...?" He stopped and sighed, rubbing his temples.

"It appears your daughter got in a bit of a fight with Mr. DeLoria here," Mr. Gomez informed him, trying his best not to crack a smile. All the adults knew Butch was a bully, Angharad could imagine how much it amused Mr. Gomez that little, well-behaved Angharad Lewis had managed to beat him up.

Her father, however, was much less amused. "Angharad! Honey, we talked about this!" he sighed. "Did you apologize?"

Angharad gave him a look. "Butch started it, though."

"According to the other kids, Butch threw the first punch," Mr. Gomez echoed. "He was harassing Amata, Angharad told him to stop, neither one wanted to back down, and then Butch hit her."

Dad gave him a look very similar to the one Angharad gave him. "Thank you, Officer Gomez."

"No problem. I'm going to stick around a minute, take Butch back home after you've taken a look at him."

"You can look at Butch first, Dad," Angharad offered. "I can wait."

Dad had given her a look and Mr. Gomez stifled a snicker as Butch went back into the treatment area. He came back a little later with a cold pack on his face and the sheen from a liquid bandage on his lip.

"If your nose starts bleeding again, hold up here and come back down, okay?" Angharad's dad showed Butch where to hold on the bridge of his nose to stop the bleeding and the boy nodded.

"Thank you, sir," he said, uncharacteristically polite, even with the grumbling.

"You're welcome," Dad said, directing Butch over towards Officer Gomez who took him gently by the shoulder. During the trade-off, Butch caught Angharad’s eye and shot her a dirty look. She responded in kind by sticking out her tongue.

"Thanks for your help, James," Mr. Gomez said, steering Butch out in front of him. "See you later."

"Bye, Herman," Dad said. "Thank you for looking after the kids."

"Don't mention it!"

Once Mr. Gomez and Butch left, Dad had turned to Angharad with a look of disapproval. "Angharad..." he began, then sighed. "What have I told you about getting into fights?"

"Go get an adult if I can't handle it," Angharad said unenthusiastically. "But I did handle it--I won! You saw him, didn't you?!"

"That's not what I mean by handling it! Angharad, honey, you need to use your words!"

"But he hit me! What am I supposed to do?! Just sit there and let him beat me up?! Or let him go after Amata?!"

Dad blinked, looking confused. "What's this about him going after Amata?"

"It's like Mr. Gomez said," she huffed, "Butch was getting in Amata's face and threatening her, saying that she'd better stop talking about him to her dad or else. I stepped in to make him go away." Angharad sighed. "Amata doesn't stick up for herself with them, especially when they bring her dad into things... She doesn't like people thinking she gets special treatment or she thinks that Mr. Almodovar would come down harder on her since she's his daughter and he expects more from her. But she can't help when they mess with her--she can't control them, and she isn't changing how she's reacting and she won't fight back at all, just sits there, and I hate seeing her like that. She pretends it doesn't bother her, but I can tell that it does..." Angharad wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and looked up at her father. "I just want to help her. She's my best friend, and I'm strong enough to take it. It doesn't bother me that Butch and his cronies and most of the others don't like me much, but Amata cares about what they think. I want to make it better..."

She looked down again and didn't meet her dad's eyes, but she could hear his internal conflict when he started to say something then stopped and sighed deeply. Instead, he knelt down to pat her head. "Angharad, sweetheart, look at me. Listen, please, please, _please_ try to avoid fighting with Butch. For me, okay? If he's bothering you or Amata, please try to get an adult to come make him stop. You're going to get yourself in serious trouble if you keep fighting like this."

"Fine..."

"Can you promise me?"

Angharad sighed. "I promise."

Dad smiled a little and kissed her forehead. "Thank you. Now, let's get you patched up, hm?"

Of course, he'd had to do something to punish her. No dessert rations for a week. It was more for appearances' sake than anything else. Angharad didn't mind too much, it had been worth it. Butch had come out worse by all means. She was just a little disappointed that she hadn't seen Amata in the cafeteria during dinner. She'd been hoping to check in with her and make sure she was all right.

As Angharad laid in bed that night, trying to sleep, she heard a quiet, rhythmic tapping at the door to her and her dad's apartment. She waited a second and listened before getting up, wanting to make sure her dad wasn't in yet. Almost every other night, it seemed, Dad stayed late at the clinic to finish up some paperwork or sort out something, so he said. Later, Angharad would learn about the experiments he had carried on in secret over the years, and would assume that at least some of those late nights had actually been spent on those. She wished that he'd shared more with her, maybe even let her help.

Angharad padded to the door and quickly opened it, letting Amata slip inside before she quickly shut it back again.

"My dad's out," Angharad said, not bothering to whisper.

"Oh, good." Sometimes before she came to visit, Amata would check the clinic to see if Angharad's dad was there still. It let her know how careful they needed to be. Both girls doubted that he would get them in serious trouble, but he would have to take Amata back to her own apartment. He'd probably have to explain what happened to the Overseer, too, and Mr. Almodovar was super strict, even with Amata.

Angharad smiled a little at her. "What're you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you. Oh crap, your eye looks terrible. Does it hurt?"

"Not much anymore, Dad had me put ice on it. You shoulda seen Butch, though, I kicked his ass!" Angharad said excitedly.

Amata gave her an uncomfortable smile. "Y-yeah, I saw him... Hey, um, Anna? I... I'm sorry..."

"For what? You didn't do anything."

"You got into the fight because of me... Here," Amata produced a small bundle wrapped in a napkin from the cafeteria and handed it to Angharad. "I saved my cookies for you. They might have gotten a little broken, but... I wanted to apologize."

"Mata..." Angharad set the cookies aside and pulled her friend into a hug. "You don't need to apologize."

"But you got in trouble because--"

"Because I fought Butch instead of getting an adult to take care of it," Angharad interrupted. "But, honestly, I'd do it again." She pulled away a bit from Amata. "You're my best friend, okay? If you need help, I want to help you. A fight with Butch is nothing I can't handle."

Amata sniffled like she was about to cry. "Really?"

"Of course. I promise."

* * *

Naturally, she could remember her tenth birthday. Amata and her father had apparently been planning the surprise for weeks, and the party had come as a surprise. It was nice, having a chance to celebrate. Not even Butch, Wally, and Paul could ruin her day, even when Butch tried to start a fight and steal the sweet roll Mrs. Palmer had given her. The Overseer was his typical wet-blanket self; he was clearly only there because his daughter had asked him to be. It wouldn't be until years later that Angharad finally figured out why he had always seemed to dislike her on principle.

But she had finally gotten her own Pip-Boy. Stanley had fixed up an old 3000 model for her. It was a little worn and rough from having been used by others before her, but she liked it. It had character. He'd also gotten her a red ballcap, something she would end up wearing for a long time. Amata had managed to get her a copy of _Grognak the Barbarian_ that she hadn't read before, too. Angharad had never asked what she'd had to do to get ahold of it; people tended to be very possessive of their comic books. Her best gift, though, had been from her father. Dad had repaired an old BB gun for her and he and Jonas had set up a little shooting range for her, hidden behind some lockers and boxes in a corner near the reactor. One of Angharad's favorite photos was the one Jonas had taken of her and Dad posing in front of it.

The range became a place she could go to relax and clear her head. Over the years, she became a pretty decent shot, too. So did Amata, from Angharad bringing her down to practice with her sometimes. There was a bit of a thrill from doing something they knew they shouldn't, and being able to have a secret in the small community of the Vault was made it even better.

* * *

A quiet voice broke nighttime silence: "Hey, Mata?"

"...hm?"

"Do you ever think about how we'll have to marry one of the boys in our class one day?"

The question was odd enough to completely rouse Amata from her doze. She sat up and looked at Angharad, squished in the narrow bed next to her. " _...What?_ Where did _that_ come from?"

"Nowhere, really," Angharad said. Then she thought. "Well... Dad tried to give me 'The Talk.'"

"Ewww!" Amata hid her face in her pillow as she squealed, then peeked up. "I am so sorry, that must have been embarrassing."

"Did your dad try to have it with you?"

"Ugh, don't remind me, it was a total trainwreck..." Amata made a face of disgust that Angharad could pick up even in the darkness. "He tried to be all...official about it."

Angharad shuddered. They were thirteen, almost fourteen, just starting to tackle puberty and hormones and everything that went with all that. Neither girl could understand why their fathers thought they actually _needed_ The Talk, by this age they pretty much knew everything. Sex had been on the popular topics list with their peers since they were eleven, maybe even ten. They weren't exactly kids anymore. As proof, Angharad and Amata couldn't even fit comfortably in Angharad's bed on sleepovers. It looked like tonight might have to be one of the last ones, at least one of the last where they were able to share the bed like this.

"But have you thought about that, though?" Angharad asked again, rolling over onto her side so she could face her friend easier. "'Cause, I mean, if no one new can come in, and we can't leave..."

"We're stuck," Amata concluded with a huff. "Ugh, I hadn't until now... I mean, I knew that on some level, but..."

Angharad nodded in understanding. "What... What do you think about it? Is there... Do you, like, _like_ anyone?"

Amata's kneejerk reaction was to make a face. "Ew, no. What about you?"

Angharad shook her head. "I've thought about it, but it just feels... I don't know, wrong? I just can't see myself with any of them."

"I think Paul likes you."

Now it was Angharad's turn to make a face. "God, I hope not. I want nothing to do with any of those 'Tunnel Snakes' or whatever lame thing they're calling themselves now."

"I know, right?" Amata giggled. "Like, who told them that sounded cool?"

Angharad smiled. "Butch, probably."

"Oh, that explains it!"

The girls laughed, covering their mouths so they wouldn't get too loud. After a minute, they calmed down, sighing and going quiet again.

"We could, like... I mean, we don't have to get married," Amata said. "There's a few adults who aren't. Mr. Brotch isn't."

"Yeah, but who knows how long that'll last? All the old ladies are constantly trying to set him up on a date with one woman or another," Angharad pointed out. "It's probably just a matter of time."

"And then we're going to have to have kids..." Amata groaned. "I don't even know if I _like_ kids!"

"Oh, sweetheart!" Angharad put on an overly dramatic, mature tone to sound like one of the Vault's old ladies and held onto Amata's arm. "Of _course_ you like kids! What woman doesn't? And it's _always so different_ when they're yours!"

Amata snickered. "Oh, of course! How could I be so blind?!"

"Think nothing of it, my dear! 'Tis but the folly of youth!"

They both laughed again, this time barely able to muffle their giggles. "Oh, man," Amata chuckled, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. "Crap, that's funny. You could be an actress."

"In a soap opera," Angharad giggled. "Sorry, I've been reading those Victorian novels again."

"Aw, I like those. Especially the one with the four sisters, what's it called?"

" _Pride and Prejudice?_ "

"Yeah, that." Amata rested her head on the pillow and sighed. "Books like that make marriage sound wonderful, you know? Maybe it's just because they got to meet someone new when they were adults and got to fall in love that way, and we're stuck with the same faces all the time."

"I can see that," Angharad said, nodding a little. She paused for a moment, then quietly asked, "Do... Sometimes when I'm reading those, I kinda want the main character to end up with her friend, do you ever get that? Like, sometimes in romances it feels like her relationship with the love interest is...I dunno...forced? And... And she already has this great chemistry with her friend that I can't help but think that if one of them were a guy, the author would have them get together..."

Angharad avoided making eye contact with Amata as she spoke. She'd never admitted that to anyone else before, and she was worried about what her friend would say. Indeed, she almost jumped when Amata's hand closed gently around hers.

"I've felt like that sometimes, too," she admitted. "I thought I was the only one."

Angharad smiled a little. "So did I."

"But, I mean, is that even an option? Don't you need to have, um... Different parts, or something?"

"I don't know," Angharad laughed. "But it makes me feel better to know someone else has thought that, and I'm not weird or anything."

"I wouldn't say that," Amata teased. "Don't worry, though, we can be weird together."

* * *

"Well, you certainly look like a perfectly healthy sixteen-year-old girl to me," Dad said, taking the lighted ophthalmoscope away from her eyes. "So, yes, you do have to take your G.O.A.T. exam today."

"But Dad," Angharad whined, "I really don't feel well! Please?"

"Sweetheart, everything is normal. Your pulse is just a bit fast, so you're probably just anxious," he said gently. "I promise, everything will be all right. The G.O.A.T. isn't that bad."

"What if I answer wrong and end up a garbage burner?"

"You're not going to end up a garbage burner," Dad sighed. "You're too smart for that. If anything, you'll end up either in medical with me or with Stanley doing something mechanical. You love tinkering. Remember that little gadget you made me for my birthday last year?"

Angharad smiled a little. Stanley had been showing her how to repair some of the mechanical things around the Vault. He'd even let her help give Andy a tune-up at one point. The gadget Dad mentioned had been a little thing made from a couple parts that she'd replaced in Andy. A desk toy, you turned the top and bottom halves of the cylinder in opposite directions and an arrangement of gears and chains along the outside would turn. It was a silly, simple thing, but her dad loved it and was proud that she'd made such a thing herself. Angharad could see it sitting on his desk behind him, actually.

Dad looked at the clock. "You should get to class. If you miss the test and do end up a garbage burner, I don't think your mother's ghost would ever let me have peace."

It had been meant as a lighthearted jest, but Angharad felt a strange pulling in her chest at the mention of her mother. Catharine. She'd seen pictures of her, of course, and heard stories, but her dying in childbirth meant Angharad had never had more of her than that. The way Dad talked about her the few times she'd managed to breach the topic with him made Catharine seem almost...godlike. She was this wonderful level of amazing genius that Angharad would never come close to, no matter how much her father told her how much like her mother she was.

"Hey, Dad? Can... Could we talk about her? About Mom?" she said softly.

The question surprised him--it always did. She didn't know why he'd ever be surprised his daughter wished to know her mother. "Your mother..." Dad sighed, pausing to collect his thoughts. "Your mother was a wonderful person; intelligent, driven, passionate. Her first passion was for the sciences and using them to try to make life better for those around her. The second... The second one was for you. She was so excited and so happy to meet you and see you grow up, and I think it's pretty safe to say that had she been here to see the person you're becoming that she'd be very, very proud."

The pulling lessened some, replaced instead by a dull, warm ache that was almost close to comfort. Angharad reached up to pull her dad into a hug. "Thank you, Dad."

He smiled and hugged her back. "You're welcome, honey. Now," he gave her a peck on the forehead and pulled away, "you need to get to class."

"Right," Angharad agreed. "Love you!"

"Love you, too! Tell me how it goes!" Dad called after her as she dashed off.

The classroom was just down the hall from the clinic and Angharad could already hear the murmur of voices as she exited the clinic when one stuck out to her in particular.

"Get out of my way, you... You stupid Tunnel Snakes!"

"How about I show you a _real_ 'tunnel snake,' Amata?"

"Hey!" Angharad appeared behind Butch, glaring at him as he and his cronies, Wally Mack and Paul Hannon, blocked Amata's path in the hallway.

Butch turned towards her with a raised eyebrow and the other two guys smirked and crossed their arms, watching like they were waiting for Butch to give a command.

"What's going on here?" Angharad demanded.

"Nothin', so why don't you buzz off?" Butch spat back. "This is between us Tunnel Snakes and her."

"Tunnel Snakes rule!" Paul chimed in like it was his catch phrase, making Butch grin and nod in his direction and even Wally gave a little chuckle. The three had long styled themselves as an old Greaser gang, even managing to get ahold of some leather jackets they'd gotten emblazoned with a green snake on the back. Butch even styled his hair in a ridiculous, oiled-up pompadour like he was in one of the old pre-War movies they'd all seen. They thought they looked cool. Angharad thought they looked like idiots.

"You need to leave Amata alone," Angharad said firmly.

"Oh, really?" Butch leaned in towards Angharad threateningly, but she didn't budge. He had gotten to be much bigger than her over the years--Angharad was maybe five-foot-three and wiry while he was closer to six feet and built like a thug. Still, Angharad didn't scare easy.

"Really," she said simply, but the force behind it was the same as when they were kids and she was still able to easily kick his ass. "You'll end up bringing the full force of the Overseer down on all of us, messing with his daughter like that."

"Tch, what is she, your girlfriend or somethin'?"

Amata jumped at the word and stiffened, shrinking back a little and glancing around. Angharad did her best to keep her composure even as her heart skipped a beat, but something in her face must have changed because Butch looked between her and visibly uncomfortable Amata. He seemed to think for a second before going, "Know what? Whatever. Let's go, Tunnel Snakes!"

"Tunnel Snakes rule!" Paul repeated as he and Wally went to follow him.

Angharad waited for them to leave before she allowed herself to relax and go to Amata. "Hey, you okay?" she asked, reaching out a little to touch her arm briefly.

Amata nodded, not immediately meeting Angharad's eyes. "Yeah. Thanks for taking care of them. Assholes..."

"No problem," Angharad replied. She looked back towards the classroom at their peers trickling in. "We should probably get going."

"All right, let's get this over with," Amata huffed, moving to trudge off.

"Don't worry, Mata," Angharad said with a small smile. "I'm sure you'll do great."

"I hope so..." Amata sighed. "I know you'll get something great, though."

"Glad you think so," Angharad said uneasily.

The two settled into their usual seats one behind the other and anxiously waited for the exam that would effectively determine what they would be doing for the rest of their lives. Finally, Mr. Brotch passed out the papers. One could not _technically_ fail the G.O.A.T., it was a multiple choice personality test with no wrong answers. It was intended to test a person's aptitude for the different career fields within the Vault to determine where they would be most useful. One could, however, end up on a horribly unpleasant career track with little hope for improvement. That was the big fear for everyone.

Overall, the test wasn't nearly as bad as Angharad had imagined. It was about ten questions long, and some of them and their potential answers were amusing. Once she'd finished, Angharad took a deep breath and went to bring it up to Mr. Brotch.

"Well, well, Miss Lewis, let's see how you did..." he said as he looked over her paper, comparing the answers to a key on his desk. "Looks like you're going to be a Pip-Boy Programmer. At least Stanley will have someone to talk shop with now."

It felt like a weight was lifted off Angharad's shoulders. Science. She could deal with that. "Thank you, Mr. Brotch."

"I didn't really do anything, but you’re welcome,” he said, looking somewhere between bored and amused.

Amata was up shortly after Angharad. “So glad that’s over.”

“Same. Lunch?”

“You bet.” Amata gave her a thumbs up as she went to hand in her test. “I’m done, Mr. Brotch. I hope I did okay.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have nothing to worry about, Miss Almodovar,” Mr. Brotch said as he looked over Amata’s test. “Well, well, looks like it’s the supervisory track for you! Maybe I’m even speaking to the next Overseer, hm?”

Amata gave him an awkward little smile. “Maybe. Thank you, Mr. Brotch.”

“Mmhmm.”

* * *

“Anna?”

“Hm?”

“What are we?”

The girls--only, they weren’t girls anymore, were they?--were still managing to cram themselves together on Angharad’s single narrow bed, even at eighteen, nineteen. The space forced them to lay close, but neither ever seemed to mind. If they were alone, they were almost always this close. There was this unspoken understanding between them that this was secret, that their dearest embraces and little touches were not to be done in public. Until Amata’s question, they had never discussed their relationship. Not this part of it.

Angharad took a deep breath and turned her head so that she could look up at her ceiling. “We’re…” She sighed again. “I… I don’t know…”

“Me neither,” Amata sighed, rolling a little to lean her head in the crook of Angharad’s neck.

Angharad gently ran her fingers through Amata’s hair a few times. “Do… What do you want us to be?”

She could see Amata’s brow knitting down as she thought hard about her response, her nose even crinkling a little. “Well… Let’s start with what we know, I guess.”

“We’re friends.”

“Right. Best friends. We tell each other everything.”

“We grew up together.”

“Were in diapers together, too.”

Angharad giggled softly and Amata grinned up at her before continuing.

“But we’re also...maybe a little closer friends than most?”

Angharad nodded. “Definitely.” She paused. “If… If you had to pick a word to describe how you feel, right now, what would you pick?”

“...Comfortable,” Amata said slowly, snuggling a little more into Angharad’s arms. “Like, I never want to leave. The rest of the Vault can go on, but I want to stay right here.”

“Me, too.”

“What word would you pick?”

Angharad felt her cheeks go pink. “W-well… Do you remember the romances we’d read as kids?”

“Of course.” Angharad could have sworn she felt Amata’s cheek get warmer against her skin. Was she blushing, too?

“I’ve been thinking about some of the descriptions in them, and how some of them feel… Well, familiar. I-I think…” Angharad suddenly faltered, unsure if she should continue. What if she ruined things? What if Amata didn’t like what she said, or thought she was weird, or…

She sighed, remembering the conversation when they were thirteen, laying in this same bed and talking about how some romantic heroines should have fallen in love with their best friends, not the male lead.

_"But it makes me feel better to know someone else has thought that, and I'm not weird or anything."_

_"I wouldn't say that. Don't worry, though, we can be weird together."_

Amata never thought she was weird, or, at least, had always been weird with her. Why would she stop now? Just a little faith.

“Love?” Angharad whispered. “M-maybe?”

Amata looked up at her, face as pink as Angharad was sure her own was. The two didn’t say anything, just stared at each other for a long moment as the word sank in. Without either of them able to remember who started it first, they slowly brought their faces close enough for their foreheads to touch, for their noses, for their lips in a soft, uncertain kiss. It lasted for all but a second, but it was enough to set off bursts of light and sparks all through Angharad’s body. Slowly, they pulled back, brown and blue eyes meeting again with twin expressions of shock. They stared for a moment before they smiled and bloomed into laughter, hugging each other tighter as if to confirm they were real. Angharad felt light and bubbly in a way she’d never experienced before.

Later, when they finally talked and kissed themselves tired, Amata held Angharad close as they began to fall asleep, and Angharad used all her focus to make sure that this film snippet was firmly locked into her memories. Not even three months later, when everything changed, she would find herself being thankful for that.


	3. Run

“...! ...na! Anna!” Amata shook Angharad awake frantically. “Wake up! Anna!”

Angharad woke with a start, initially trying to push her friend away from her. “Gahh! What the hell?!”

“Shhh!” Amata covered Angharad's mouth for a second. “Someone will hear you! Quick, there isn't a lot of time! Your dad is gone!”

Angharad pushed her hand away so she could sit up. Confusingly, she could hear the muffled sound of an alarm going off in the hall. “What do you mean my dad is gone? Gone where?”

“He left the Vault!”

“That’s...not possible,” she said slowly. “The door’s sealed, isn't it?”

“I thought so, too, but apparently it isn't. Worse, my dad's furious. I… I think he's gone crazy! You have to run!” Something in Amata's frantic voice started to crack like she was about to cry and Angharad instantly pulled her close to comfort her.

“Mata? Did something happen?”

Amata nodded. “Officer Mack… Daddy was interrogating Jonas and Mack just kept hitting him and hitting him… He beat him to death, Anna!” Amata clung to her. “Please, you have to run! If he finds you… I don't know what he'll do, but he just suspected that Jonas might have helped your dad, and he thinks you knew about it, too!”

Angharad suddenly felt cold. “But I didn't!”

“He didn't say anything to you? At all?”

“N-no…” Angharad combed her memory of the past few days for anything, anything at all, but everything had seemed normal. “I had no idea…”

“Oh, no… I'm sorry,” Amata said sympathetically. “M-maybe… Jonas was probably supposed to explain it to you…”

Angharad nodded mechanically, only vaguely aware that she was holding Amata's arms a little too tight, but the other girl didn't seem to mind. “I… What am I going to do?”

“I have a plan!” Amata reached down and handed Angharad a few packets of bobby pins. “You need to leave the Vault, follow your dad, but my dad's men are all over the place, they're blocking the way out.”

“Then how--”

“There's a secret tunnel in my dad's office, it leads right up to the Vault door. The door will be locked, but you can get in with these, right?”

Angharad closed her fist around the pins. More times than she could remember, she and Amata had played at burglars, using the pins to break into restricted areas like the Overseer’s office. Amata had a better hand for it than she did. “I'll have to try, won't I?”

“I also got you this.” Amata pressed something made of cold, heavy metal into Angharad's hands, surprising her so much she didn't immediately recognize what it was.

“ A _gun_?!”

“It's my dad's pistol, here, there's ammo, too.” Amata pressed the box into Angharad's hands even as Angharad tried to give them back.

“Mata, no, I can't--”

“ _Listen_!” Amata reached up to hold Angharad's cheeks, forcing her to look at her. “If security finds you, they _will_ kill you! I _need_ you to take this. Please, you have to get out of here!” Her voice went quiet as she added, “Let me help you for once…”

Angharad gently squeezed Amata's hand, trying to comfort her. “Okay.”

Amata nodded curtly and stood. “I'll go see what I can do to keep them away from you, okay? Grab what you can and hurry!” As she went to dash off, their hands stayed linked for what felt like an extended second before Amata finally pulled away.

Alone, Angharad took a deep breath and looked around her apartment. Needing a bag of some kind, she yanked the case off her pillow and flew to her dresser, cramming anything she could inside. There wasn't time for careful consideration or planning, so she barely thought. With the pillowcase full, she realized the awkwardness of carrying it, wishing for a backpack, but she didn't even think there was one in the entire Vault. To make do, she yanked her bedsheet off the bed and managed to use it to securely wrap the makeshift bag and tie it around her torso like a bandolier. Before she left for good, she grabbed a brush and hair tie from her bathroom, using the tie to twist her blonde hair up into some kind of quick bun to keep it out of her face, and pulled the framed quote of Revelation 21:6 off the wall. She might have looked around once more if she hadn't heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall.

Heart hammering hard, Angharad ran out, freezing when she heard someone shout, “Hey! Stop right there!” She didn't process that she shouldn't be stopping, not for a second, until she saw one of the Vault security guards marching towards her. But before he could get to her, he was jumped by several particularly large radroaches. Offering up a silent thanks, Angharad ducked into the bathroom door immediately to her left, shutting the door behind her and escaping through the one on the other side.

“Hey!”

Someone else saw her, someone saw her, _oh shit, shit, shit!_ Angharad made to run off, but she ran right into the owner of the voice and looked up to see Butch. _Oh no…_ She tried to push him away, but he held her. She half expected to hear him shouting to the security officers.

“You gotta help me!” he pleaded instead. “My mom, radroaches are attacking her, please, you have to help her!”

“Butch, now is not the time--”

“Please, I can't do it myself!” It was then Angharad realized he was purposely keeping his voice low, like he was trying not to alert anyone else, and his expression was one of genuine panic.

“O-okay, I'll help her!” Angharad agreed. “But it's for her sake, not yours.”

“I don't care, man!”

Angharad ducked around him and saw a confused, drunk Ms. DeLoria on the ground, trying pathetically to bat away four radroaches. Angharad almost raised her gun, then reconsidered, reaching instead for a heavy, surprisingly full bottle of vodka on the floor. It would be quieter, and she wouldn't risk shooting Ms. DeLoria. After a few hits, the insects fell away with sickening crunching and squeaking sounds that on any other day would have made Angharad gag and shudder. Once they were all dead, she dropped the bottle and almost ran into Butch again as she tried to run off again.

“Thank you so much!”

“Great, you're welcome, now I need--”

“Uhh, here!” Butch suddenly took off his Tunnel Snakes jacket and shoved it into Angharad’s arms. “I want you to take this. And this!” He handed her the switchblade he carried in his belt. “I'm sorry, it's all I've got, I wish I could help you more…”

Angharad stared at him in dumb confusion. “Huh?”

“You're getting out of here, yeah? Take these! It might be cold outside, I don't know! And a knife is always helpful, right?” An idea occurred to him and Butch snapped his fingers. “I got it, I'll see if I can distract security a bit, kay?”

“Why are you helping me?”

Butch paused, like he hadn’t thought about the why either. “...The Overseer’s after you, yeah? It’ll be nice to stick it to ‘im for once.”

Angharad smiled a little. “Thanks, Butch.”

“Don’t mention it. Really.”

The two rushed off in different directions, Butch being as loud and obvious as possible and Angharad crouching and trying to stay hidden. She managed to tuck her newest additions into her makeshift bag as she moved closer to the atrium. As she approached the last turn, she heard voices and hid behind the corner.

“No, no, we can’t!”

“Listen, Mary! It's our only chance, don't you see? We're getting out of here, just like the doctor. I'm not going to let anyone stop us.”

Angharad peeked out to see Mary and Tom Holden arguing by the doorway she was hidden near. Tom kept looking to the hallway that led to the Vault door before breaking away from Mary and running at it. There were gunshots and Mary screamed out Tom’s name before running after him, followed by more gunshots and silence. Shocked, Angharad covered her mouth to keep her voice from betraying her. She looked out into the atrium and saw no one. _I have to go now,_ she told herself, forcing her body to move again. Her heart hammered as she crossed the room at the back, keeping close to the wall and shadow so she wouldn’t be seen, but bracing herself for more shots. When she made it to the stairs, she realized she’d been holding her breath and gasped before running as fast as she dared up them.

“Stop!”

Angharad reacted instinctively when a voice came from down the hall where she needed to go, raising the gun in a threatening manner before she even processed who it was.

“Hey! Woah, woah, easy now!” She recognized the voice of Officer Gomez. “Angharad, please, put the gun down! I’m not gonna hurt you!”

She hesitated, adjusting her grip and swallowing hard as she considered her options. Officer Gomez had always been nice and now he was holding his hands out in a non-threatening manner, but Angharad didn’t lower the gun until he stopped walking towards her. She didn’t put it away, though.

“Boy, am I glad I’m the one who found you!” the officer said, clearly relieved. He approached Angharad slowly. “I don’t think the others would be so nice.”

Tom and Mary Holden’s bodies were somewhere behind her, backing up that statement. “Probably not. Sir, listen, I really don’t know where my dad’s gone, and he didn’t say he was leaving. I just want to get out of here before the Overseer has me killed, too.”

Officer Gomez’s expression softened. “I’m so sorry about Jonas, but you’re right, you need to get out of here. I’ll pretend I didn’t see you, you go find your dad.”

“Thank you.” She would not have expected this much help in her escape, but was honestly grateful for it.

“No problem. Good luck, I hope you find him.”

Angharad nodded and the two walked past each other. She managed to make it down the hallways without encountering anyone else, save a few radroaches, until she came to another group of apartments. The Overseer’s voice on the intercom informed the residents that the Vault was on lockdown and no one was permitted to leave their apartment, but that was drowned out by a furious banging on a window.

“ _You_!” Allen Mack shouted at her, pounding on the reinforced glass, or was it actually plastic?, with his fist. “This is all your fault! Officers! Officers, she’s over here! The doc’s kid is right here!”

Not wanting to give the commotion a chance to attract anyone, Angharad kept moving, but her neighbor’s anger shook her. She didn’t want this, and she knew her father didn’t want or mean for any of this to happen, either. If anything, he must have wanted to just quietly slip out unnoticed. But he had to have known his actions would have consequences; the Overseer was so firm in his isolationism and his security force and most of the Vault was so fanatically loyal to him, he should have been able to foresee this. Why would he leave? What was out there? How would he even know anything about outside when he’d lived his whole life in Vault 101?

She passed through one of the mechanical rooms, passing another figure unmoving on the floor. She couldn’t bring herself to see who it was--she knew he was dead. Down the hall a little more, she passed by the clinic and felt a pang of loss, but she didn’t have time to linger. She could see Stanley, though, fighting off radroaches with Andy’s assistance and she hoped he’d be okay. It wasn’t far before she’d reach the Overseer’s office and apartments--she was almost there. She was almost safe.

“I just want to talk to her, now tell me where she is,” came the Overseer’s voice, making Angharad freeze.

She couldn’t let him see her, he’d kill her or order his guards to do it. Cautiously and quietly as she could, Angharad poked her head around the corner to peek into the hall. She could see the back of the Overseer’s head as well as the back of Officer Mack’s through the window of a small room. They appeared to be interrogating someone, if she was quick and quiet, they wouldn’t notice. She was about to make her break for it when a tear-strained, terrified voice cut through and forced her to stop.

“I can’t tell you!” Amata sobbed. “Please understand, Daddy, I can’t! You’ll kill her!”

“Amata, dear, I don’t enjoy hurting you like this, but you must understand this is for the good of the Vault. Mack, again.”

There were screams and the dull thunk of a baton against flesh as Officer Mack began beating Amata. Fury flared in Angharad’s chest, making her forget all her fears for her own safety. Without giving it a second thought, she levelled the gun at Mack and rushed to stand in the doorway. “Hey!” she shouted, noisily removing the safety on the weapon. “Leave her alone!” The Overseer and Mack both jumped and Amata stared at her in wild amazement. Angharad couldn’t see any wounds on her, but her Vault jumpsuit covered all but her hands and face.

Once he got over his initial shock, the Overseer turned to Mack and barked, “Mack! Subdue her!”

Mack got a wicked, sadistic expression on his face as he began to stalk over to her. “C’mere, girlie!”

“I swear to God, I’ll shoot!” Angharad warned, trying her best to keep her voice even as she slowly backed away from the violent officer. “Just stay back!” She swore she could hear her own heart beating.

He didn't stop or slow.

 _Breathe_ , she reminded herself, willing her hand to _stop shaking, just stop shaking, it’s just like in the firing range_. If he took three more steps, she’d have to fire. “Stop!”

Two more…

“I mean it!”

One…

_BANG!_

Far away, she heard Amata scream.

Officer Mack stopped as a bright red stain began slowly spreading on the left side of his chest, just above his security armor. For a second, he looked fine, only a bit dazed. Then, he just…crumpled.

Angharad stared at him, arms dropping to her side as Amata dashed out of the room. She didn’t stop her, just stared at the body of the man on the ground in front of her, and she was the one who put him there, she killed him, she was a murderer…

“Security! To me! Quickly!” the Overseer shouted, breaking Angharad out of her daze. Her head shot up to look at him. Meeting his gaze made her want to shrink back and hide, it was full of so much hate and venom. The thought that she could shoot him too didn’t even enter her mind until she went over the events in her head later.

Instead, Angharad ran. Ahead, she saw another body. Jonas. Battered, broken, and bloody. His glasses lay on the ground beside him, glass shattered, and red staining his Vault suit through to his lab coat. Despite her not having time to waste, she knelt beside him and scooped his torso into her arms so she could carefully move him off to the side. She didn’t want him getting stepped on or kicked, and she couldn’t bring herself to just step over him like he was garbage. Unsure what possessed her to look, she tucked a hand into the pocket of his lab coat, surprised when she found a holodisk with her name written on it in a familiar handwriting. Dad’s.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured to Jonas, standing up. “And thank you, I got the note.” She looked at him for a moment longer before looking into Amata’s bedroom. “Mata!”

The other girl was sitting in a chair near her door, sobbing. She looked up when she heard Angharad’s voice and gave what was almost maybe a smile. “Thank you! I… I don’t know what they would have done, thank you so much!”

Angharad approached her slowly. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes I’m fine, no, stop, go! I’ll meet you at the entrance if I can!” Amata pushed Angharad back when she tried to hold and comfort her, shoving her towards the Overseer’s office. “Look in my dad’s room, there should be a key in his nightstand! Maybe more ammo, too!”

The Overseer’s bedroom was immediately beside Amata’s. They’d rarely had their sleepovers in Amata’s bed because her father was able to hear them talking through the wall and even now, walking into his room filled her with anxiety. She wasn't supposed to be in here. The man was unapproachable, almost terrifying to everyone but Amata, and this was his most personal of spaces. Even so, the room was almost sterile with its lack of even the smallest bit of personalization. Angharad tried to ignore the feelings churning in her stomach and went directly for his nightstand. There was indeed a key in there and a box of ammo for the pistol. Angharad pocketed it and went for the office door, not bothering to shut it behind her. There were a couple lockers in here, and she searched those, finding more ammo, a police baton, and an extra set of the helmets and bulletproof vests the security officers wore. Moving to the desk, she saw several terminals, most of which appeared to be displaying security camera feeds of hallways and common areas within the Vault, but one showed a space Angharad had never seen before. It took her a moment to recognize that it was showing the Vault door. Outside. She could see bones and decomposing signs and dust and dirt. Maybe it was a symptom that there was life out there? But the bones were dry. Regardless, she had to move. If she stayed, she'd be killed.

The main terminal was password protected, but Amata had told her the password before. It had been easy enough for her to figure out; it was her name. Using his daughter's name as his terminal password almost made him feel more human to Angharad. It seemed like the kind of thing her own dad might do. She logged in, looking for a way to open the secret tunnel Amata talked about. As she searched, she listened out for the sound of footsteps, thinking that Vault security would be close behind her after the Overseer shouted for them. She could hear his voice over the PA system, alternating between warning the residents to stay in their apartments and calling all security to his office. She assumed he would want to send in the officers as quickly as possible, before she got to the tunnel. Unless he assumed she didn't know about it. But what did he think she was doing? Preparing a defense? The anxious knot in Angharad's stomach turned another loop. That was probably it. Oh, God, they were going to charge in all at once to overwhelm and kill or capture her. Like Jonas. Or Tom and Mary. Or Mack.

Panic started to rise in Angharad's chest. She wanted to scream or cry or curl up into a ball and wait for the world to just stop, but she kept telling herself she needed to breathe, needed to keep going. If she gave up she'd die. She just needed to get the tunnel open. When she got it open, she'd run for the exit, then she'd be okay. She'd be okay. She'd find her dad and everything would be just fine and why couldn't she find that damn command?!

Finally, hidden within other folders and files, she found a command to open the Overseer's escape tunnel. As soon as she hit it, the desk in front of her started to lift and the floor under her chair retracted. She jumped up and watched as a set of stairs leading down was revealed. The desk and floor (or was it a hatch?) had barely settled into their fully open positions before she was running down the stairs, hitting the button on the wall to close the opening behind her, just in case Amata wasn't the first one in the office behind her.

She didn't know what she was expecting, but she was surprised the tunnel was so empty. Not sure what other rooms were on the other side of the tunnel's walls, Angharad tried to move as quietly as she could while still moving quickly. When she got to the end, there was another switch, this one opening a wall in an area she didn't immediately recognize. Amata had said this led right to the door, but she hadn't expected that to be literal...

No one in Vault 101 went near the door. There was rarely even a guard detail on it. Supposedly, it had been sealed for two hundred years, so what was the point? Sometimes the kids would dare each other to run up and touch it, as if being too close to it would expose you to the outside elements. Other times, it was teenagers coming for a secluded place to make out. Angharad hadn't been anywhere near it since she was a kid, but of course nothing had changed. Even though she knew she had to, Angharad was still hesitant to approach the yellow control box; it was hard to ignore a lifetime of having touching it be forbidden. Still, she had no other choice. And her father had done it. There was no reason she shouldn't be able to, either.

A blaring alarm started to sound as soon as Angharad pulled the release lever.  For a second, she worried that maybe the Vault had been sealed back, that all she had done was let the Overseer and Security know where she was, but then the massive mechanical arm overhead began to swing down towards the Vault door. It connected with what must have been the locking mechanism on the door, twisted, and pulled away. Nothing seemed to happen for a moment until the great gears began to turn with a grinding, metallic squealing and the door slowly rolled open.

"You did it!" Amata's amazed voice appeared behind Angharad, making her turn around. "I didn't think it was even possible, but you did it!"

They could see bright sunlight at the end of the tunnel leading up to the Vault, the first time for either of them. Neither girl spoke for a moment, then Angharad felt Amata reach out to hold her hand.

"Thank you again, for saving me," Amata said softly, turning to look at Angharad.

"Of course," Angharad started, "I'll always--oh... Oh..." With all the commotion, Angharad hadn't had time to process what her leaving the Vault fully meant. She held Amata's other hand and the two leaned in a little so their foreheads were touching. "Mata... I..."

"It's okay, I'll be okay," Amata murmured. "Go find your dad."

Angharad glanced briefly over her shoulder at Outside. She gently squeezed Amata's hands. "Come with me. It isn't safe for you, either."

She might have expected Amata to look shocked, but instead she looked sad. "I..." She looked back over her own shoulder, at the walls of the Vault, then back to Angharad, torn. "Anna... Anna, I can't... I want to, but... I'm the only one who can calm my father down."

Willing themselves not to cry, the girls embraced tightly. "I'll come back for you," Angharad murmured. "I promise. This isn't goodbye." She felt Amata nod against her shoulder and added, "There's a feed of the outside of the door--"

"And you keep an eye on the emergency broadcast," Amata interrupted.

"I love you."

Their eyes locked for an extended second before Amata pulled Angharad into a dry-lipped, anxious kiss. "I love you, too," she said. "Stay safe."

Angharad hugged her tightly again. "I'll try."

"If anyone can survive out there, it's you. I'm sure of it."

Angharad opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by the sounds of shouting and heavy boots running down the hall towards them. Fear and self-preservation kicked in again, making them release one another and jump apart. Angharad stole another brief kiss and by the time the security guards were in the room, she was already running, out the Vault door, boots kicking up dust and dirt as each step took her further and further from everything she knew. Behind her, she could hear shouts and screaming and the thunk of boots. Outside was _right there_ , she could almost _touch it_ , she just had to make it a little further…

Her fingertips touched the rough, ancient, weathered wood of a door as she heard the Vault door start to squeal and grind closed behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaay we got through the game intro!
> 
> I actually have the first few chapters written, but I want to stagger posting them so I have a chance to hopefully not get horribly behind.
> 
> It looks like people are actually reading this thing and I just wanted to say thank you so much and I hope you aren't disappointed! Amata and Angharad aren't going to be interacting for a while, but one of my goals is to maintain Amata as a central character for when they do see each other again and to keep their relationship a focus throughout. So if you're here for the ship, good news! I am too!


	4. The Wasteland

The sun was blinding; she couldn’t  _ see _ , she just kept running until her lungs screamed for her to stop, which she did, abruptly. As she leaned forward to try to catch her breath, she blinked her eyes hard to try to force them to adjust. She found herself inches away from the drop of a tall ledge and stumbled back with a shout, falling backwards onto her bottom. All her nerves and muscles were still screaming for her to keep running, but when she looked over her shoulder at the wooden door, no one came running after her. There was only the far away screeching of the Vault door closing behind her and the dull thunks as it locked back into place, leaving nothing but silence and Angharad’s heavy breathing.

_ That's it, then. I'm out here. _

Wherever  _ here _ was. Angharad looked out over the ledge to take stock of the world. She'd seen pictures and films, read books, she knew what the world had looked like before the War, so she was able to appreciate the difference. It… It really was a wasteland out here, wasn't it? There was no grass or plants, only dusty brown dirt too fine to grow crops or anything. She saw black, skeletal forms that looked to her like burned trees (upon closer examination, she was able to confirm that was indeed what they were) and the burnt-out shells of tall houses. No movement, no signs of life. Were there even still people out here? And if they were present, how had the nuclear holocaust changed them? Stories of horrifying mutants roaming free in the world above were commonplace in the Vault, but there was also no way for them to actually confirm any of them.

At any rate, she couldn't stay on this ledge forever. First, she needed to inventory what she'd managed to grab in her rush out of the Vault. Angharad moved towards the cliff face, near the wooden door before Vault 101 so that she was sitting in the shade. She was fair skinned and blonde--she had no idea how badly she would sunburn, not really, but the books would talk about fairer people burning more easily. She undid her bundle and laid out the sheet so she could get to the pillowcase. Of course she had Butch's jacket and switchblade, the bulletproof vest, security helmet, and police baton from the Overseer's office as well as the hairbrush and framed quote she'd made a point of grabbing, but past that she honestly had not paid much attention to what she packed.

Thankfully, even in her hurry she had been mostly practical. She'd grabbed a couple extra Vault jumpsuits and all her clean underwear and socks. Her red ballcap, the one Stanley had given her for her tenth birthday, had made it in and she put that on now. Hopefully it would help keep the sun off her face. Her baseball bat and old BB gun might prove at least mildly helpful; the gun couldn't take down anything particularly big, but she'd killed more than a few radroaches with it. The baseball and glove? Those would probably prove less useful. There were two books, ones she and Amata had borrowed from the book exchange over and over again to the point where they practically owned them,  _ Pride and Prejudice _ and  _ Anne of Green Gables _ . Someone was going to miss those, the book exchange wasn't large to begin with. One of her favorite  _ Grognak the Barbarian _ comics had also made it into her bag. What she was most relieved to see, though, was her small photo album. That there was no replacing. It contained the photos of her childhood; her, her father, Amata, even a few Dad had given her of her mother that were particularly precious. Her clunky camera had made it, too, but she doubted it would mean anything.

To prepare herself for what might lie ahead, Angharad put on the bulletproof vest and attached the police baton to her belt beside her gun. After a bit of debating, she pulled the leather jacket on, too, and put the switchblade in her pocket. She was worried about getting too hot under the blazing sun, but if that happened she could just shrug the jacket off. Once her bundle was repacked and slung around her shoulders, Angharad took one last look back towards the Vault, took a deep breath, and turned to walk down towards the ruined houses.

Two hundred years ago, this might have been a nice neighborhood. She knew from history classes that it had been called Springvale, and many of the Vault's families had ancestors who lived in these very houses. Now, they were nothing more than charred beams around piles of debris. Angharad would have loved some work gloves as she turned through the piles so she wouldn't cut her hands, but she settled for turning through the mess with the end of her baton. She could only imagine what kind of a death sentence getting tetanus out here would be. In all honesty, she wasn't expecting to find much, anything good would have likely been destroyed or looted long ago, but she was only looking for anything remotely useful. Hopefully that criteria was vague enough for her to be successful. Sifting through all the junk, Angharad was able to find a few (relatively) unrusted pots and pans, some rope, usable fabric, and a couple knives. Other things like intact packages of cigarettes, toys or gadgets, anything that she would consider luxuries, really, she picked up, too. She hoped she might be able to sell or trade some of it for supplies, assuming she found people.

Unexpected movement caught her attention. Her heart jumped into her throat and she crouched down, silently praying whatever it was wasn't dangerous. As it approached, she could hear what sounded like music, specifically the patriotic anthems that played in some of the old films (Mr. Brotch had referred to them as "propaganda films," Dad had tried hard to hide his disinterest in them). Curious, Angharad slowly stood up as the object came into view. It was a little, silver spherical robot with little antennas coming off the back and it floated with a bouncing motion as it moved along the crumbling roadway. It appeared to be the source of the music as well. Even as Angharad slowly moved towards it, it didn't seem to notice her, just continued back and forth on a predetermined track. Eventually, she started following it, listening to its broadcast. After a couple passes, she started fiddling with the dials on her Pip-Boy, hoping she could tune into it as she had the Vault's PA system. After some tweaking, she finally got it:

_ "Hello, America. This is your President, John Henry Eden, and you are listening to Enclave Radio." _

She listened as she continued digging through the refuse. This "Enclave" sounded like some sort of governing body, styled after the pre-War government. The broadcast was mostly monologues spoken by a man identifying himself as President Eden, interspersed with the patriotic anthems. It sounded nice, but it was repetitive, taking only about an hour to go through one loop. There was no way for her to tell if this was a current broadcast, or where it was being transmitted from. But it called this area the Capital Wasteland, said there were all sorts of dangers out there in it, so it sounded current and credible if for no other reason than Angharad wanted it to be. Still, something about Eden’s messages bothered her. It took her an hour or two for her to put her finger on why. The way he spoke about removing all who opposed them uncomfortably reminded her of the totalitarianism of the Overseer; initially well-meaning, but easily able to spiral out of control into the same kind of chaos the Vault had descended into this morning with neighbors killing each other for no other reason than the word of one man.

Maybe Amata had made the right decision, staying behind to end the violence, but Angharad was still scared for her.

Angharad coughed as a gust of wind blew dust into her face, reminding her that she had more pressing concerns than what might or might not be happening to Amata and in the Vault. She was so thirsty it felt like the skin in her throat was sticking to itself, and her stomach growled periodically. The rush of the morning had prevented her from eating or drinking and she hadn’t been able to grab any food or water on the way out. The sun was higher in the sky now than when she began her scavenging and the clock on her Pip-Boy told her it was well into the afternoon. Angharad sighed, realizing now that she should have spent more time looking for resources than supplies this morning. It was a hard lesson to learn.

There wasn’t any sign of water anywhere in the ruins where she was, but a ways off, Angharad could see what looked like an intact house. Maybe she’d be able to find something, or be able to coax some water out of the ancient pipes. It wouldn’t be potable, but maybe it could be if she were to boil it. Maybe it was possible for her to jerry-rig something with her found pots and pans to distill it, too.  _ Yay for chemistry _ , she supposed. It might actually keep her from dying.

Encouragingly, the house still appeared intact, even as Angharad got close enough to open the door. She went up to what would have been the back door and tried the handle. The ancient mechanisms stuck a little, but it turned. Inside the house was dark and she could feel a welcome rush of cooler, though musty, air. Pre-War insulation at its finest. Angharad slipped inside and shut the door with a sigh and relaxed, slipping her heavy pack off her shoulders and set it down so that she could lean back against the door.

A metallic click jolted her back into a fully standing position.

“Hands up!”

Angharad automatically complied with the barked order, panicking a little as she looked around for the source of the voice. In a doorway, pointing a shotgun, stood a woman who was a little taller than her with tanned skin and silvery hair.

The gun went  _ ca-click _ as the woman pumped it in preparation to fire. “Did Moriarty send you?!” she demanded loudly.

“What?”

“Are you working for Moriarty?!” the woman yelled again. “If you are, I swear to God I’ll blow your fucking head off!”

“I’m not--!”

“I’m not giving him the fucking money, all right?! These are my caps, I earned them, and you can tell him to go fuck himself!”

“Ma’am, please, I don’t--”

“You tell him that, got it?!”

“Yes, ma’am!”

The two stood there at an impasse for what felt like minutes. Angharad shut her eyes, convinced she was about to get shot. She could feel the woman glaring at her, the gun aimed squarely at her head, but eventually heard a soft muttering.

“Wait, what the…?” Angharad opened her eyes a little and saw the muzzle of the gun dip down a little. “You… Is that a Vault suit?”

Angharad nodded a little.

“...You don’t work for Moriarty, do you?”

“No, ma’am. I don’t know who that is.”

“An asshole, that’s who.” She lowered the gun completely, appearing to relax. “Sorry, can’t be too careful out here. You can put your hands down. And don’t call me ‘ma’am.’ It’s Silver.”

_ Like the hair. _ Angharad slowly lowered her hands. “...What happened with this Moriarty guy?” she asked cautiously.

“Colin Moriarty, runs Moriarty’s Saloon over in Megaton. Bastard thinks I'm some junkie bitch that stole money from him, but I didn't! It's my money, I earned it!” Silver growled and tossed the shotgun carelessly onto a table.

Angharad flinched, worried the jolt would make it go off. “...Why don't you tell me your side of the story?” she tried. Maybe it would help her calm down?

Silver considered her for a moment, then sighed and slumped into a chair. “Look, I used to work for that piece of shit. I'd, y’know, do ‘favors’ and stuff for the guys, right?” She looked at Angharad as if to gauge her reaction to this information. When the Vault girl just nodded for her to continue, she did. “Well, I got tired of it. So, I went to him and said, ‘Look, I'm done, and I'm taking my share of the caps.’ He agreed, at first, even slept with the bastard to seal the deal, but then the next morning he goes well, actually, no, I can't leave. So I just…” She made a vague, dismissive gesture with her hand. “Took the money and ran, I guess. Only now I keep looking over my shoulder all the time, thinking he's gonna send his thugs after me or somethin’...”

Angharad felt sorry for her, she really did. “M-maybe I could help?” she offered.

Silver cocked her eyebrow at her and snorted. “You? What are ya, fresh outta the Vault?”

“Well… If you gave me some of the money, I could tell him I saw you, but that you were dead or gone or something.” She didn't really like trying to extort money out of this woman who clearly had her own problems to deal with, but Angharad needed some way to survive, too. If there was some sort of town nearby, that meant there would be food and water she could buy. She had no idea if the junk she had picked up would get her any of these “caps” Silver mentioned. And it wouldn't hurt for her to get some kind of idea what the money looked like. Besides, it wasn't like she was trying to take all of it.

“Really? You'd do that for me?” She looked Angharad up and down again, then got up to go to a cabinet where she fetched a leather bag. She shook out what sounded like little thin pieces of aluminum. "Two hundred do it?"  
  
Angharad blinked, thinking that sounded like a lot. "U-um yeah."  
  
Silver smiled a little and pressed the little pieces of metal into Angharad's hands. Now that she saw them close up, Angharad could see that they were little, silver and red bottlecaps at varying levels of wear. All right, she could work with that. At least they were light.  
  
"Back to my earlier question, though," Silver said. "Did you just climb out of a Vault?"  
  
Angharad nodded a little. "Yeah, this morning," she admitted. "I, um, I don't suppose you could help me? I don't really... I've never been outside before... Do you know where I could get some water? I think I've found stuff to trade, but..."  
  
"Here." Silver went to a pot on the counter, lifted the lid, and dipped a glass into it. "I boiled it this morning, so it should be okay."  
  
"Thank you," Angharad said gratefully. She gulped it down, despite it tasting kind of bad. At least it looked clear and didn't leave a worrying residue in the glass. "Where did you find it?"  
  
"Here," Silver said simply. "A lot of pipes still work in a lot of places. The water's just... Well, it usually comes out brown, and I don't have a way to purify it."  
  
"I might know something. Could I see your pots and pans?"  
  
Silver looked skeptical, but she showed Angharad what she had. Angharad selected the largest pot with a lid and a bowl that would sit inside the top of the pot, but still leave a bit of a gap along the edges. "So, we need to boil this..."  
  
Silver waved for her to follow, taking her back out the door Angharad had come in through to a small fire pit she'd somehow missed on her way in. She tossed some more material onto the remains of the fire and brought out a flint to try to light it. "Sooo, what have you got going on with that?" She nodded towards the configuration of pots Angharad was holding.  
  
"I'm trying to jerry-rig a distiller."  
  
"Like booze?"  
  
Angharad blinked. "Well, um, this could work with that, it's the same basic principle."  
  
"How's it work?"   
  
"You boil the water in the bottom part to make steam. Since the bowl inside it doesn't cover the opening all the way, the steam is able to come up and hit the lid, which we're going to turn upside-down and pour water in. That water will hopefully be cold enough to get the steam to condense against it, and when the drops get big enough, they'll drop into the collecting bowl," Angharad explained. "The collected water _should_ be pure, since the contaminants would be left behind in the bottom pot. It might not work as effectively as a more sophisticated set-up, but it should be more effective than just boiling it."  
  
Silver listened with an almost dumbstruck expression, then laughed when Angharad finished. "Wow, that's... Wow. You a scientist or something, Vaultie?"   
  
Angharad blushed faintly. "Not exactly."   
  
"If this works, you could seriously make money just showing people how to do it.   
  
"Maybe."  
  
Silver got the fire lit and took the pot from Angharad who went to go fetch some water to use as the coolant. Once the pot was settled, the women sat back to watch it in silence for a while until Silver spoke.  
  
"So, what's your name?"  
  
"Angharad."  
  
Silver blinked. "That's one hell of a name."   
  
"Oh..." Angharad blushed a bit. "What makes you say that?"  
  
"Never heard of someone called that before. Where'd you pick it up? Or is it your given name?"   
  
"Given name. My dad told me my mom got it from a pre-War book when she was a kid," she replied. She'd never seen that book, though. Dad had told her it had gotten ruined a long time ago.  
  
"I can see that."   
  
"Is Silver a nickname?"  
  
"Yeah." Silver laughed a little. "My mom named me Patricia, of all things. Isn't that terrible?"   
  
"Just a bit." Angharad cracked a smile.   
  
After a few minutes, Angharad got up to check the water. Silver looked on over her shoulder as she triumphantly pulled out the collecting bowl, now half filled with clear water.   
  
"Holy shit it worked," the Wasteland woman said in awe.   
  
"It takes a while, and you do lose some of the water to evaporation, but if there's enough of it around..." Angharad trailed off a little.  
  
"That's amazing."   
  
Silver was still astounded by the ease with which Angharad had managed to throw the distiller together when Angharad asked, "So, that Megaton place you mentioned, is it the closest town?"   
  
"It's the only one nearby. Think you wanna head that way?"   
  
She nodded. "It's all I can think of, really. Unless you saw a middle-aged man in a Vault suit earlier today."   
  
Silver raised an eyebrow. "No, who's that?"  
  
"My dad."   
  
"Oh..." Silver looked at the bowl she still held, then at Angharad. "You're following him, then? Don't seem too prepared if you walked out of that place without water."   
  
The criticism made Angharad flinch a little. "I... I didn't have any time to prepare..." she admitted. "It had to get out of there fast." Despite not wanting to burden this stranger with her problems, Angharad told Silver what had happened this morning. When asked why her father leaving had been such a big deal, Angharad explained that Vault 101 was supposed to have been permanently sealed, that everyone was told growing up, "We are all born in the Vault, we will all die in the Vault." In addition, the Overseer's word was law, with no power checks.  
  
"Kinda sounds like a cult," Silver commented.  
  
"Yeah..." Angharad bit her lip, trying to work up the nerve to ask her question. "C-could... Would you maybe be interested in trading me for some food? I think I found some things, like two packs of cigarettes?"   
  
Silver perked up instantly at the mention of the cigarettes. "Really?" When Angharad nodded, Silver looked up at the sun before she replied. "Tell you what, give me the cigarettes and I'll even let you stay the night. Megaton's close, but you still wouldn't get there before it gets dark, and it isn't really all that safe to travel alone at night. Maybe you could even ask me about stuff, I don't know."  
  
Now it was Angharad's turn to perk up. "Really?!"   
  
"Sure, why not? You offered to help me with Moriarty," Silver said. "Plus, the cigarettes help take the edge off between hits of jet."   
  
"Oh." Angharad wasn't entirely sure what jet was, but it sounded to her like some sort of drug. She decided not to mention it and just went back into the house to dig through her bag. Silver watched her from the doorway, raising an eyebrow at her makeshift pillowcase and bed sheet sling combo, but didn't comment on it until Angharad handed her the two somewhat squashed but still intact boxes of cigarettes.   
  
"...We're going to fix that, too," she informed her. "I can't in all good conscience let you walk out of here with that."  
  
Angharad blushed a bit, but nodded.   
  
Silver invited her to remove her armor and jacket and relax a little while she went through cabinets to find something for them to eat. "We'd better get any cooking done now," she said. "There's a ruined school just down the road that’s full of raiders. They haven't bothered me yet, but I don't want to risk the fireglow giving us away at night."   
  
"Are raiders a big problem here?"  
  
"Tch, they're a big problem everywhere, Vaultie. The Wasteland is full of terrible people; raiders, slavers, and just plain psychos. Even a chem junkie can be dangerous as fuck, especially if they think you have caps or chems." She pulled out two of some sort of fruit that was purplish blue and appeared to be divided into rounded lobes as well as some kind of meat wrapped up in cloth. "You like mutfruit?"  
  
"I've never had it."  
  
"Right. Vault." Silver dug in a drawer for some long metal skewers. "It doesn't taste too bad. The mole rat, unfortunately, is less appetizing, but it's edible." She skewered the meat and walked back towards the door as Angharad got some more water to add to the distiller and poured the pure water into a pot with the first batch. When she returned, Silver had set the meat up to roast and was leaning against the wall, puffing on one of the cigarettes. “May as well keep that pot going as long as possible,” she said when Angharad came back outside.

“I figured.” Angharad ducked back in to grab her pillowcase and switchblade. She wanted to make it into a drawstring bag with the rope she'd found. Hopefully it would work; she was hoping to keep the sheet intact for use as bedding. “Silver? Is there any advice you could give me? About surviving out here.”

“Don't fucking trust Moriarty,” was Silver’s immediate response. She seemed to think it at least a little funny, but the slight smile faded quickly and she took another drag from the cigarette. “Get any delusions of having an easy life out of your head right now. Life in the Wasteland sucks. Hard. And always keep a weapon on you. Don't trust anyone who says they'll give you something for nothing, chances are they're planning on just robbing you at best, or more likely killing or selling you. Best you learn to manipulate others so you don't get manipulated yourself.” Silver looked at Angharad closely, as if appraising her. The narrow-eyed look she gave was more than a little unsettling.

“O-okay… Anything else?”

“You know how to seduce a man?”

The sudden question made Angharad blush dark red. “ _ What?! _ ”

Silver snorted and laughed. “O-oh my god, your face!” she managed to say. “Oh shit, that look’s priceless!” She kept laughing until she had to wipe tears from her eyes.

“W-what kind of question is that?” Angharad asked stiffly.

“A-ha, a, ha, valid one, I think.” Silver inhaled deeply through her nose, trying to hold herself together enough to talk. “Woo boy, okay. I think I'm good.” She ran her fingers through her hair some and puffed on the cigarette again. “See, look, it's a fact of life out here that men are going to go after you. It's just the way things work; you're young, you're cute, hell, you're fucking blonde with blue fucking eyes, I'd bet all you'd need to do would be walk into town before men start asking how much.”

Angharad shifted uncomfortably. “I-I don't really…”

“I'm not saying you do it. Hell, I'd be the first to tell you it's a shitty plan; it's rough and men are assholes. What I am saying is you're going to get attention from men whether you want it or not. Unfortunately, the pigs can't seem to control themselves around a hot girl. So, you take back control of the situation. Weaponize your looks.” When Angharad gave her a blank look, Silver rolled her eyes. “Use the suggestion of sex to manipulate men into doing what you want. Depending on how good you play it, you probably won't even have to actually do anything. Just flirt. Bat your eyes a little. Touch an arm, sit on a lap, give a hug or a little kiss on the cheek, you really don't need to do much.”

The thought was uncomfortable, but, objectively, Angharad could see the validity of Silver’s words. “I'll keep that in mind…”

“Sorry, I don't mean to be crude, but--”

“No, no, I understand,” Angharad cut her off with a slight wave of her hand and a smile. “It's fine.”

Silver considered her for a second, then shrugged. “Okay.”

They didn't speak much more until the meat was ready. It had been tough, chewy, and tasted like the dirt, but Angharad acknowledged that it wasn't the worst thing she'd ever eaten. What Silver had called mutfruit had gone over better. The skin was a bit thick and tart, but the flesh was juicy and sweet. Silver told her it was a common staple in the diet of Wastelanders as it was one of the few crops that could still grow. As they ate, they worked their way through glasses of the distilled water. It certainly tasted better than what Silver had initially boiled. By the time they had to douse the fire, there was enough to fill a few bottles for Angharad to take with her when she set out in the morning.

Even though Silver had made her a sort of bed on the floor, Angharad didn't sleep well. Whenever she got comfortable enough to start to doze, she'd hear something or some image would flash into her mind and jolt her awake. She eventually slipped outside to sit quietly by herself in the hopes that some fresh air would help. Now that the sun had gone down, the scorched environment was cold enough to chase her into wrapping Butch's too-big jacket around her shoulders. Off in the distance, she could see the glow of firelight and hear raucous voices from the raider camp Silver had warned her about. No wonder she'd been so concerned about them seeing their own small fire. In the other direction were the rocks of the ridge that hid the Vault. Looking at them sent a pang through Angharad’s chest and she shivered, hugging the jacket tighter. It was strange to think how much her world had changed less than a day. Was she already homesick? To be fair, she hadn't wanted to leave in the first place.

_ At least _ , came the hollow thought,  _ the sky is pretty. _

Above her, the night was cloudless and a beautiful stretch of starlight. Every other book in the Vault had talked about the moon or stars. Some did have pictures, but those didn't compare to the real thing. She could pick out the band of the milky way stretching across the sky like a ribbon of lights, but nothing else. The books had said the names of constellations; Orion, Ursa Major and Minor, Cassiopeia, the Pleiades, but they hadn't said how to recognize them. Maybe she could find someone to teach her. It would be nice to be able to point out to Amata all the stars they had only read about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Fallout 3 was the first Fallout game I actually played (so long as you don't count 30 minutes of Fallout 4) and I will admit to actually hiding from the eyebot first time out of the Vault. And I love the idea of Silver being the first person the LW meets out of the Vault (again, based on my first playthrough) cause, like... Few hours of wondering if there's people, only "living" thing you've seen is a robot, and you just wander into a house to be met by a woman who's as freaked out to see you as you are to see her. Also, they didn't put a gun in her inventory? Really?
> 
> Fun fact, though, I learned about the pots and pans distillation method from a class I took my senior year of undergrad. (Zymurgy, basically "Homebrewing 101")


	5. Megaton

Morning was...disorienting. Angharad only awoke early from her short period of sleep out of habit. She was still exhausted, but her mind was too wired. At first, for the briefest second, she thought she was still at home, that the hardness and chill on her back was from her having fallen out of bed. But no, she was still in the dilapidated house in Springfield. Silver was mumbling in her sleep and a bit of light managed to poke through the boarded up windows to illuminate a disturbing stain on the ancient carpet. Then came the sensation that something was crawling on her, making her abruptly jump to her feet and brush herself off frantically. Even though she found nothing, she still shuddered at the thought of something creepy and crawly on her.

_ I think it might be time to leave... _

After making sure her gear was packed in her pillowcase turned backpack, Angharad went into the kitchen to grab the bottles of purified water she and Silver had readied the night before. Even though her host never explicitly said it was okay, Angharad also went through the cabinets to find something to bring with her to eat. She grabbed a couple small things she didn't think Silver would miss and put them in her bag. When she looked over at Silver, she was still sleeping. Not wanting to wake her, Angharad dug through the drawers in the kitchen to find something with which to leave her a note. She ended up with a pencil and a ruined, waterlogged book she tore a page out of. The ink had long since run or faded from the pages, so it was easy for the writing to be read:

_ Silver, _

_ Thank you so much for everything. I'll find out if Moriarty is still looking for you or not, and if he is, I'll find a way to make him think you've gone. I hope everything works out for you and that you stay safe. _

_ \-- Angharad _

Angharad left the note on the end table by Silver's bed, tucked under one of the boxes of cigarettes. After one last glance around to make sure she didn't forget anything, she turned to leave, putting on the security helmet instead of her ballcap.

Her plan for the morning was, admittedly, morally ambiguous. Speaking with Silver had confirmed that scavenging pre-War ruins was a good way for people to earn money, and she'd already picked clean the ruins of Springvale. Except for, of course, the school housing the raiders. Angharad had no idea what she'd find there, but she hoped she'd be able to sneak in and steal some stuff from them. She didn't want to think of herself as a thief, didn't want Outside to make her that way, but she figured that these people had likely stolen their supplies to begin with. It didn't make things right, but it made them fair. She could live with that.

Going right in the front door felt like a bad idea, so Angharad circled around the building, looking for an alternate way in. She was pleased to discover that a good portion of one entire corner of the structure had been blown away completely--walls, roof, and all, exposing the interior rooms. Or, what was left of them. The inner walls and floors were crumbling, and Angharad could see cracks spidering across them in all directions. There were lockers up against some of the walls, though, as well as several big metal crates that had been stacked neatly, giving the impression that they belonged to the current residents. It was looking like she might not even have to enter the building or worry about being too stealthy.

A shout and bullets whizzing past her head corrected her on that second point. Angharad quickly ducked down behind a broken wall and cautiously peeked out to see who had fired on her. She could see two raiders--a man and a woman--in patchwork leather and metal armor. The man had been the one who originally saw her; he had his gun pointed in her direction while the woman still looked mildly confused. He fired again, this time the bullet embedding itself in the plaster and drywall Angharad was hiding behind. This was bad. She scooted down so her head was definitely not visible and scrambled to get out her pistol, making sure it was loaded before she poked her head up ever so slightly. The female raider had drawn her gun and was approaching slowly while the male stood back a ways. Angharad swallowed hard and levelled her gun off before firing. She missed, but the woman jumped back and the man ducked behind what was left of a support pillar.

The woman cocked a crazy smile and lifted a gun and rapidly rattled off several shots that all missed Angharad. She didn't seem to care, though. She laughed madly with a far-away look that suggested she was high on something. She ejected the spent magazine from her gun to slam in a fresh one as she sauntered over towards Angharad's hiding place. "Come out, come out, meat!" she taunted. "C'mere! I wanna show you somethin'!"

Angharad peeked out as much as she dared, tightening her grip on her pistol. She went over her options. She could run. But where? Back to Silver? What if they followed? What if they shot her while her back was turned? Sneaking away carried the same risks.

She could fight, but that wasn't something she could do halfway. They'd be fighting to kill her, and she'd have to respond in kind. The hand holding her pistol started to shake a little, Mack's face after she shot him flashing in her mind. Was she really prepared to do that again? End a life? Logically speaking, she'd been well within her rights; he'd already beaten Jonas to death, was working on doing the same to Amata, and if she killed these people now she would just be defending her own life, maybe even helping others by how Silver had talked. But morally? Killing was wrong. It was awful and cruel and--

Another set of bullets passed over Angharad's head. She could have sworn she felt the wind from them in her hair.

_ If I don't do it, I'm dead. _

Her heart hammered up into her throat.

_ D-dead. D-dead. D-dead. _

Without stopping to think about it more, she held her breath and popped up to quickly fire three shots. The first missed, sailing just over the raider woman's right shoulder, but the second and third hit home in the right side of her chest. The woman cried out and staggered back, looking at the blood welling up with bewilderment. Angharad fired again, hit her in the stomach this time as she went to raise her gun up. Angharad managed to duck in time. She let her spend her clip again, waiting for the click of the magazine being ejected before she popped back up.

But the man had joined the fight now. "What the hell?! Don't waste your clip!" he spat to the woman, levelling his rifle where Angharad kept popping her head. She barely managed to duck in time to avoid getting it blown off, though she did feel concrete dust sprinkle onto her helmet and shoulders. He noticed his friend had gotten hit and called out again, a little more concerned this time: "Shit, you okay?"

"'M f _ iiii _ ne," she slurred, turning to face him even as she raised her gun again so that she wasn't looking when Angharad fired two more shots. They struck her in the center of her chest this time. Her arm wavered and slowly dropped as she wobbled for a moment before she fell, crumpling to the ground.

" _ Fuck! _ " The first raider craned his neck to check if his companion was dead, then snarled and reloaded his gun from behind the pillar. "You're fucking dead, bitch!" he shouted. "You hear me?! Dead!"

Angharad watched carefully, moving a little over from where she'd been. She had two rounds left in her own pistol and she hoped she'd be able to win with just those. This guy was smarter than the other, though. He barely came out from his cover and didn't seem nearly as out of it as the woman had. She'd barely even seemed phased by Angharad's bullets with whatever she was high on.

Angharad waited for him to reach out and shoot before she fired. Her first shot missed, embedding itself in the pillar, while his went low and embedded itself in the wall below her. But when she went to line up for the second shot, she was pushed back by a burning pain in her shoulder that made her scream. It felt like she'd been punched, harder than anything Butch could ever throw. She looked down and saw blood oozing from her shoulder through a new hole in her Vault suit. "Shit..." she hissed, slumping down behind the wall to examine her wound. The bleeding was slow, so she doubted the bullet hit anything major, but it was still bad. She didn't have any medical supplies, no stimpaks, no gauze, nothing. Hopefully Megaton had a doctor. If she even made it that far.

To stop the bleeding, Angharad dug in her bag for the bedsheet, tearing off a corner and wadding it up. Pressing it against the wound  _ hurt _ , but she just bit her lip and tried to breathe through it. Under her own heavy breathing, she could hear the soft thud of footsteps approaching her. The raider. Angharad bit back a cry as she lifted her gun. There wasn’t time to reload. She’d only have one shot.

“You still alive back here, girlie?” he called.

Angharad aimed her gun, ignoring the pain it caused her to move her dominant right hand with a bullet in the shoulder.

_ Just breathe. _

A dirty face appeared around the corner and she took the shot.

Unlike the two others she’d killed, there was no delay between the shot and the man crumpling to the ground. It was so instantaneous, Angharad wasn’t entirely sure she’d hit what she was aiming for at first. There was just silence as she waited for him to get up and shoot back. When, after several prolonged seconds, he didn’t, Angharad cautiously went up to him to check for life. He had a clean bullet wound to his forehead, but that was all Angharad allowed herself to look at. She turned her head away and pushed his so she wouldn’t have to look at his face.

Now that the two raiders were dead, the world was silent again. Angharad was worried some of their friends inside would hear the fight and come to investigate, but no one came. She’d have to take advantage of that, she supposed. She wasn’t sure how she’d manage to loot the area without her hands, though. She couldn’t let go of her shoulder, but now that the adrenaline was wearing off, her right hand had almost no mobility, the pain was too much. Looking around for a solution, her gaze fell on the dead raider in front of her. He had a bandana tied to his belt that looked  _ maybe _ somewhat clean. It would go a long way if she could use it to maintain pressure on her wound, but she hesitated. Was… What was the morality on looting the dead? It wasn’t like he was going to be using it anymore, and anything she took from him was just one thing less his buddies could use themselves, but it didn’t feel right.

It was his fault she’d been shot, though.

Angharad sighed, bending down and yanking the bandanna off him. She managed to clumsily wrap it tight around her shoulder and tied it using her teeth and left hand. After another moment of consideration, she bent to remove his belt as well, using it for a sling. Maneuvering the buckle was difficult, but she managed to strap her lame arm to her chest. Before moving on, she picked up his gun and went through his pockets to take anything else he was carrying.

There was no way she’d be able to carry literally everything she found in the open part of the school, so she tried to limit herself to what seemed most useful or valuable, hoping her quick guesses would be right. There was still no way to know if anyone else would eventually come to investigate the gunshots, and Angharad didn’t want to be there for that. A sound like a door opening and closing made her jump, scramble to collect her loot, and bolt off as fast as she could, only slowing when she realized the effort was forcing more blood out of the wound in her shoulder so that she was leaving a trail. It thankfully stopped when she reapplied pressure.

Silver had said there were signs pointing to Megaton, and Angharad was easily able to find them. Big yellow letters painted on crinkled sheets of metal pointed the way through some short hills with path worn in from what looked like years of traffic. At the top of one, a great metal monstrosity came into view all at once. It looked like some sort of wall, made from a patchwork of metal sheeting and what looked to be parts from giant pre-War machines she'd eventually hear someone call airplanes. The path looked to lead right up to a gate guarded by some kind of robot that looked so much more humanoid than Andy. Angharad approached, more curious than cautious and almost forgetting her arm for a moment.

“Welcome to Megaton,” it said in a mechanical staccato, turning to face her. “Friendliest town around. Have yourself a nice visit, pardner.”

She smiled a little, noticing a little decal that had been painted on his side that labelled him as “Deputy Weld.” Someone must have a thing for cowboy movies. “Hello, can I go in?”

The robot seemed to consider her for a moment. “Affirmative.” It turned and operated a mechanism that caused the metal gate behind him to groan open. “Head on in, pardner. Ya’ll enjoy your stay now.”

Angharad laughed a little, then winced when her shoulder seemed to flare again. She stumbled inside, the gate closing behind her, and looked around. The town looked to be built inside some sort of bowl-shaped depression the way the ground sloped down, forcing most of the buildings to be supported by platforms and stilts to keep their floors level. Everything inside seemed to be made of the same sheet-metal material as the outer wall, too. It was much rougher than the construction in the Vault, but still more structurally sound than Silver’s house and the school. And there were so many  _ people _ ! Were there more here than in the Vault? Everyone looked so busy and focused on what they were doing, none of them paying attention to her. It made her feel so small.

“Hey there.”

The sudden gruff voice behind her made Angharad jump and turn quickly, nearly falling backwards down the slope. It belonged to a tall black man with a beard wearing a cowboy hat and a duster with a gold star pinned to the lapel who quickly reached out to grab her shoulders when she started to tip.

“Whoa, there! Didn’t mean to scare ya.” He helped her regain her balance, holding her shoulders before he noticed the bloody rags under his hand and Angharad’s pinched expression of pain. “Shoot! Didn’t mean to do that, neither! Sorry.”

“I-it’s okay…” She could only imagine how she looked; dead-tired and pale wearing a Vault suit covered in blood and carrying a makeshift bag full of supplies. A few others nearby had taken notice of her, too, and were giving her strange looks.

The man gave her a quick look over before glancing back at a couple of the gawkers. “Here, let’s get the doc to have a look at that,” he murmured, gently putting a hand on her good elbow to lead her. “You got it? Watch the steps now, they’re not even.”

Angharad nodded a little and let herself be led, mostly watching her feet so she wouldn’t slip or trip or anything. Once they were on mostly even ground, the man pointed her up a ramp towards a metal shack labelled “Clinic” in an untidy painted scrawl, showing her in through the door and letting her go first before he shut it behind him and called for someone named “Church.” The girl blinked hard at the sudden change in light levels, trying to adjust to what felt like sudden darkness. It was a moment before she was able to get anything back into focus.

“Hello there, Sheriff,” said another male voice, sounding entirely uninterested and like it came from the other room. “To what do I owe the interruption?”

“I’ve got a patient for you.” The first man, who Angharad supposed was the town sheriff (and likely the cowboy enthusiast responsible for Deputy Weld) continued to gently lead her while she blinked towards the second voice.

Doc Church sighed, “Great,” and Angharad was finally able to get a look at him. He was also a black man with a beard, but he looked much older as his hair had gone entirely grey. There were some bloodstains on his off-white t-shirt, both new and old ones, that made Angharad a little concerned about cleanliness. He regarded her with no small level of boredom and disinterest. Clearly, there was something else he would rather be doing. “Little Vaultie got herself shot up, I see. Fine, hop up on the table, let me take a look at you.”

The sheriff helped Angharad shrug off her bag and helmet so she could get up onto the examination table Church indicated. He also helped her undo her makeshift bandages while the doctor went to wash his hands in a nearby sink, much to Angharad’s relief.

“Get all that off her shoulder, will you?” Church said, looking over his shoulder. “Oh, thanks. The jumpsuit, too. I’m going to need her arm out of it.”

Both the sheriff and Angharad hesitated for a moment, but Angharad reached up to unbutton the collar of her suit and pull down the zipper. It wasn’t like she had to take it off completely, and she still had her undershirt on. She did need the sheriff to help her maneuver the fabric off her arm, though, after which he stepped back to let the doctor examine her.

“Doesn’t look too bad,” he said, examining the wound with much rougher hands than Angharad would have liked. He shot her a glare when she hissed in pain. “Stop that, you big baby.”

“Doc,” the sheriff warned. “Go easy.”

“Sorry,” Angharad murmured.

Church waved the sheriff off. “I can fix you up, no problem. It’s gonna cost caps, though. You got any?”

“How much?”

“It’s not too bad. Seventy-five should do it.”

“I’ve got that in my bag.”  _ Thank you again, Silver. _

“Great, you can get it in a minute.” He stepped away to get some supplies. “You fresh out of a Vault?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s your name?”

“Angharad. Angharad Lewis.”

The doctor gave her a look similar to the one Silver had given her when she’d introduced herself to her. “Well, I’m Doc Church, this here’s our sheriff, Lucas Simms, who has clearly insisted on bothering me.”

“Really?” Simms sounded unamused.

“I don’t have the time to take care of every single stray that wanders in,” Church cut back. “This town of yours has enough idiots getting themselves into all kinds of trouble. Now, as for you, don’t go squirming too much, I’m gonna have to cut that bullet out. It’s gonna hurt, even with the Med-X.” He poked her with a syringe, making her wince, but the pain started to fade some a moment later.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, the scalpel hasn’t even come out. Simms, if you’re going to stand there, talk to her. Keep her distracted.”

Simms nodded and Angharad tried to focus on him rather than on what Church was doing to her shoulder. “So, you’re from that Vault up there?” he began. “What brings you to Megaton?”

“I’m looking for my father. Has he come through here?” Angharad could feel something cold poking at her and steeled herself for the cut. “His name’s James.”

“Can’t say that I’ve seen anyone else in a Vault suit here recently.”

“Oh…” Angharad felt herself deflate a little.

“But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been here.” Simms sounded like he was trying to cheer her up. “I’d try talking to some of the others around town. Someone had to have seen him. That blue tends to stand out.”

“Moriarty would know,” Church said as he slowly sliced into Angharad’s arm. She tried hard to ignore him and not move. “As much as I hate to refer people to him.”

“Hm.” Simms sounded mildly irritated, then sighed. “Well, just be careful if you go talk to him. He is  **not** your friend, no matter what he may say, so don't fall for his lies. And for god's sake, don't trust the man.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome. I’d hate to see him get the better of you.”

Church finished cutting and set down the scalpel, much to Angharad's relief, but that dissipated when he started digging around in the wound with forceps. "Sit still," he ordered.

Angharad gripped the edge of the exam table with her good hand and tried to just focus on Simms. "So, Megaton? Interesting name for a town," she said, her voice at a slightly higher pitch than it had been at a moment ago.

"I guess so. Place is named for the bomb at the center of the town."

" _ Bomb?! _ "

"Yup. Still live, too."

Angharad blinked a couple times, trying hard,  _ very _ hard, not to be rude to this man and call him and his neighbors idiots.  _ But building an entire town around a live atomic bomb...? _

"That's... Really?" she asked in disbelief. "Can I ask why?"

Simms chuckled a little. "Well, the place started mostly as people trying to get into that Vault up there." Angharad felt an odd pang of guilt in her chest at that. "The crater was already here, and it was a good place to hide from the storms, raiders, and the like. Then traders started coming by and the Church of Atom people showed up, and the town just grew around that," he explained. "But if you really want the town's history, you should go find Manya Vargas. She's been here longer than anyone else, and I'm pretty sure her grandfather helped found the place."

"Good to know."

Angharad heard a  _ plink _ as Doc Church dropped the bullet from her arm into a little metal dish. "All right, worst parts are over," he said. "Just going to stitch this up and give you a stimpak and you'll be fine."

She looked down at the wound as he got up to get what he needed. It looked better than she'd expected, actually. "Thank you, sir."

"If you really want to thank me, don't get yourself shot again," Church grumbled as he returned to rinse the wound before he stitched it.

"I promise I'll try."

"Good."

Butch had caused her to get plenty of stitches growing up, so she didn't flinch now. After the stimpak, the residual pain already started fading as the medication coaxed her tissues into rapidly mending. Before pulling her sleeve back on, she tried moving her arm a little. "Has anyone ever tried to disarm it?" she asked Simms as she zipped up her Vault suit. "The bomb, I mean."

"I don't think so."

"Isn't that dangerous? Couldn't it go off at any time?" Angharad tried not to sound nervous about the thought.

Simms offered her a reassuring smile. "Far as I'm concerned, it hasn't gone off yet," he said. "But I suppose I do worry about it some nights."

"You should," Church said matter-of-factly.

"...Thanks, Doc."

"Don't mention it. Thank you, young lady," the doctor said as he took the caps Angharad handed him, counting them briefly before putting them in a desk.

She nodded, quiet for a moment as she thought. "Sheriff, would it be all right if I took a look at the bomb? I might be able to disarm it."

Both men looked at her, Church like she was crazy and Simms with wariness. "You have experience with explosives?" Simms asked.

"Not exactly, no," Angharad said, "but I am--was--a programmer for the Vault. They controlled them with computers, right? I want to see if I could get into it with my Pip-Boy or something." Besides, with how high-tech those kinds of bombs had been, she doubted experience with simple explosives would do her much good. It couldn't be so simple as cutting the right wires.

They considered her again. "Well, how confident are you?" Simms asked. He was worried, clearly, about letting someone who didn't actually know what they were doing play around with an atomic bomb. Who could blame him?

"If it can be done this way, I can do it," Angharad said firmly. "I'd just need to look at it a bit before I try, to make sure."

Doc Church shrugged and gave a dismissive wave, saying, "I say let her do it. Look at it, at least."

Simms still looked reluctant as he stepped up a little to look Angharad in the eye, holding her gaze for a moment like he was looking for something. He must have found something that satisfied him, though, because he eventually nodded. "All right, we'll let you take a crack at it. But  _ be careful _ , I don't want you messing around with this thing unless you're sure."

"I promise," she said with a curt nod.

"Well, now that that's settled, maybe you two could  _ leave _ ?” Church said, walking off to do something. “You’re both breaking rule number one pretty hard.”

“What’s that?”

Anticipating the good doctor’s response, Simms let out a sigh and rolled his eyes. Church didn’t seem to notice, or otherwise didn’t care. “Don’t bother me.”

“Oh…”  _ Guess not all the doctors out here are like Dad… _ Angharad gathered her things and went to leave, pausing at the door to hold it open for Simms as he exited behind her.

“Thank you,” he said politely.

Angharad gave a little nod and paused on the metal porch. Now that she wasn’t distracted by a bullet in her arm, she immediately noticed the bomb off to the right, sitting in a little pool of water that had a man standing knee-deep in it as he shouted theatrically at anyone who happened to pause in his vicinity. Preaching, she assumed. Looking around, she got that feeling of being small again. There were even more people going about here in the center of town and it struck her that for the first time in her life she didn’t know any of them. Price of growing up in a Vault then leaving, she supposed.

“Hey,” Sheriff Simms’ voice made her look up. “You look a bit lost.”

She shrugged, then forced a smile. “N… I’m fine. I’m just trying to figure out where I might be able to rent a room or a bed or something.”

“Moriarty’s has rooms. I think Nova’s in charge of it,” he replied, looking like he wanted to add something but was still considering it. After a second, he nodded to himself. “Actually, how about I put you up for a few days?”

“Really?” She blinked. “Are… I mean, you’ve already helped me, you don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t, but I’d like to,” Simms assured her. “It’s just me and my boy, Harden. He and I can share the double bed for a few days, and you can have the single.” He gave her a smile. “You’re offering to try killing that thing for good, and you seem like a good kid. Besides, I can’t imagine you having much money after paying the Doc--I don’t know how you got that much to be honest--and staying at Moriarty’s long-term…” It looked like a thought just occurred to him that put a bad taste in his mouth. “Well, it’d get expensive fast, and he's not the kind of person you want to owe. You can at least stay with me long enough to qualify for a spot in the common house, that way you won’t have to pay near as much.”

“Wow… I’d really appreciate that, thank you.”

Simms grinned. “Don’t mention it. Come on, let’s get you a chance to clean up a bit.” He led her back up the slopes of the crater to a house cobbled together out of sheets of metal and bits of machines, much like the rest of the town. This one, though, had the rather impressive addition of a sort of crow's nest made from an airplane fuselage on its roof. Inside, it was homey. There was a bookshelf sparsely populated with half-ruined books and random knick-knacks, a pair of small tables pushed together to make a larger one with four chairs that almost matched each other, and stairs leading to what Angharad assumed were the bedrooms. Simms more or less confirmed this by starting up the stairs.

"We'll let you use this one, if that's all right," he said, opening the door to a small room with a desk and a single bed with a couple pillows and blankets neatly tucked around the mattress.

When he looked at her expectantly, Angharad beamed. "It's great, thank you so much."

"You're very welcome." He pointed back down the stairs. "There's a sink down in the kitchen, in the back. The water treatment plant gets the water pretty decent, but it isn't quite purified. Boil it before you drink it, but it's fine for washing clothes and things. The town restrooms are a bit down a ways, but there's signs. Just go out the front door and keep going left, you should find them."

Angharad nodded. "Thank you." She paused. "I know I'm a stranger, and you really have no reason to be trusting me this much, but I just wanted to let you know I really appreciate it."

Simms smiled a bit. "You seem like good people. Just don't go letting my trust be misplaced now."

"I promise I won't, Mr. Simms."

"Call me Lucas. And your name, what was it again? I'm sorry."

"Angharad." She gave a little apologetic smile. "I've been told it's odd."

"Just a bit. Definitely an old world name."

Angharad thought for a second. "You could call me 'Anna' if that's easier."

Simms nodded. "Anna. All right." He glanced  over his shoulder and said, "Well, Anna, I'm gonna go see if I can't find my boy, let him know we have company. I'll let you get settled."

"Thank you, Lucas."

Simms gave her a smile before turning to leave. Once she was alone, Angharad sighed and sat down on the bed. It felt weird, telling someone else to call her Anna. That had always been Amata's name for her. No one else ever used it, not even her dad. Maybe she should think of another nickname? Anne? Angie? She sighed again and reached into her bag for a new Vault suit to change into, accidentally knocking the ruined book she'd found at Silver's onto the floor. It made her pause. What she wanted right now, more than anything, was to talk to either Amata or her dad.

Keeping a diary had never really been something that interested her. Angharad wasn't a writer. She didn't have the way with words Amata or Dad did, couldn't string them together to make something beautiful. But she could write letters. She wouldn't get a response, but maybe it would help her work out some things? There was no harm in pretending.

_ Dear Amata, _

_ I miss you. I haven't even been gone long enough, but I do anyway. Guess I'm used to being able to talk and see you every day. _

_ I don't really know what I'm doing out here. It is a wasteland, but it isn't totally dead. I've met some nice people who've helped me out some.  _ ~~_ I've already gotten shot _ ~~ _ None have seen Dad, though. Jonas had a holodisk from him, but I haven't listened to it yet. I don't know why. Maybe I'm mad at him. Or anxious. What could possibly be on there? _

_ People are having a hard time with my name.  _ ~~_ I'm sorry but _ ~~ _ So, I told someone they could call me Anna, to make it easier. It's weird to hear someone else call me that, you were the only one who ever did.  _ ~~_ We never said the nicknames were ours but _ ~~ _ I don't know why it bothers me, it's just a shortened version of my name. Still, it almost feels like I lost something.  _ ~~_ or cheated on you _ ~~

_ Sorry, I'm terrible at this. I thought maybe writing to you would make me feel better, but I keep blanking. This isn't a diary, there's no point in talking about how my day was. You'll probably never actually read this, anyway. All I really want to say is that I miss you. So, so much. And I hope you're okay. Please be okay. _

_ Love, Anna _

The rubber eraser at the end of the pencil had fossilized and the ancient paper was too delicate to strain anyway, so whenever Angharad made a mistake she just put a line through it. Most were thoughts or false starts that weren't meant to be put on paper, though she wasn't sure why she was still censoring herself. No one out here knew her or Amata, so what would they care? Old habits, she supposed.

She thought about writing one to her dad, but she hadn't even listened to his. Angharad fidgeted with the holodisk before playing it, staring at her name written across the front. She honestly didn't know what to expect from this, but she hoped for some kind of explanation if not for why he had left then for why he left the way he did. A why wouldn't change anything, of course, she wasn't a child. Maybe it would help her handle things if she could understand. Finally, she sighed and inserted the holodisk into the slot hidden on her Pip-Boy and pressed play.

_ "Hold on Jonas, I need to record this first." _

Dad's voice.

_ "I don't really know how to tell you this. I hope you'll understand, but I know you might be angry. I thought about it for a long time, but in the end I decided it was best for you not to know. So many things could have gone wrong, and there's really no telling how the Overseer will react when he finds out. It's best if he can blame everything on me. Obviously, you already know that I'm gone. It was something I needed to do. You're an adult now. You're ready to be on your own. Maybe some day, things will change and we can see each other again. I can't tell you why I left or where I'm going. I don't want you to follow me. God knows life in the Vault isn't perfect, but at least you'll be safe. Just knowing that will be enough to keep me going." _

_ "Don't mean to rush you, Doc," _ Jonas' voice sounded far away,  _ "but I'd feel better if we got this over with." _

_ "Okay. Go ahead. Goodbye. I love you." _

The screen gave her the option to save the recording to her Pip-Boy. She didn't hit it, instead unfastened the device from her wrist and pushed it away from herself. That was it? That was the best he'd been able to come up with? There was  _ something he needed to do _ ?! What could  _ possibly _ be so important?! How could he even know what there was to do out here?! Angry tears stung the corners of her eyes and she wiped them away furiously. How could he think this was enough? Some last minute little note was the only goodbye he thought she'd need? How could he think so little of her? Of himself? He was her father for God's sake, did he think she'd just move on and forget him? That she didn't still need or want him in her life? She loved him, dammit, and he couldn't even give her a proper goodbye?!

The sound of the door opening downstairs made Angharad look up and force herself back into composure. She stood and went to look over the railing at who had come in. It was a pair of children, a boy in a long jacket that looked far too big for him and a little girl, maybe a few years younger than him. They crept inside like they weren't supposed to be in there, but the boy looked too much like a miniature, beardless Lucas Simms to not be the son he'd talked about. She almost laughed when she realized that the jacket must have been intended to mimic his father's long duster. All he was missing was the hat.

"Where is she?" the girl whispered.

"Shh!"

"But I thought your dad said--"

"Quiet, she'll hear you!" Harden hissed.

"But I wanna see the Vault Dweller!" the girl whined.

"Hi!"

The little girl jumped and screamed, but Harden jumped into some sort of stance like he was getting ready to run or fight when they heard Angharad speak from the top of the stairs. She covered her mouth with her hand and bit back a laugh at the sight.

"Sorry!" Angharad couldn't keep the smile from her tone, though. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Harden was slow to relax, but the little girl was hyperactively excited and immediately started bouncing towards the stairs. "Are you the Vault Dweller?!"

"Mmhmm," Angharad said, moving to come down to meet her halfway. "My name is Angharad, what's yours?"

"Maggie," she pipped. "This is Harden. He's the Sheriff's son." She didn't seem to notice the little glare the boy gave her. Clearly, he'd wanted to introduce himself.

"Nice to meet you both."

Maggie stepped up to inspect Angharad intently. "Are you really from underground?"

"Sure am," she said with a smile.

"Did you live in, like, tunnels and stuff?"

"Sort of. It was a Vault."

"What was that like?"

Angharad thought for a second. "...Imagine living in a town that's in a big metal box, but has maybe...half the people that are here," she finally said. "It's small, and everyone knows everyone else and all about them, too. It's hard keeping secrets."

"It's even safer in those than here in town," Harden said. "Right? It's what my dad told me?"

"I think so," Angharad said thoughtfully. "It's hard to get in, we have a big, heavy door."

"Have you always been there?" Maggie asked.

"Since I was born." Maggie was such a curious kid. It was so cute. Harden was clearly trying to be more reserved, maybe thinking it made him seem older and more mature than Maggie's excitement.

Still, he was a kid and some things required an explanation. "So you'd never been outside before? Ever?" he asked.

Angharad thought back to her first blinding experience with sunlight and nodded. "Not until yesterday."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will never understand why the game let you diffuse an actual atomic bomb with 25 measly points in explosives but to diffuse a rigged baby carriage you had to have 60.
> 
> I sorta got the idea for the letters from another fic called "Exactly Like We Were" by imperialdragonborn and if you haven't read it I really do recommend it, it's really good. The letters aren't going to be so much of a major story device, though, but I thought it might be a good way to keep Amata in the story and to let Angharad have a sort of unfiltered outlet.
> 
> I mean, there's also POV changes but...


	6. Way of the World

Nights were cold out here, Angharad concluded, like the deserts she'd read about. She didn't go to find Moriarty until the sun had set and the outdoor lights came on all over town. It felt like the moment it had dipped below the horizon, the temperature plummeted and the wind picked up, chilling her right through her Vault suit and sending her back inside to find Butch's jacket. Angharad could only imagine how ridiculous she looked, like a pre-War teenaged teeny bopper wearing her boyfriend's too-big letter jacket, but it worked for right now. The black did actually help tone down the Vault-Tec blue of her jumpsuit, making her stand out just a little less. It had so far attracted plenty of attention in the forms of stares, comments, and questions. That 101 on her back was liable to become more of a target or neon sign instead of her Vault number if this kept up. She was going to have to get some other clothes tomorrow or something.

At least the jacket was warm. It was probably the only nice thing Butch had ever done for her, too.

Moriarty's Saloon was a whir of activity. The big lights on the sign out front were brightly lit and more glow spilled out onto the walkway from the open door as people drunkenly stumbled in and out, laughing and shouting. Keeping her hands in the jacket's pockets, Angharad ducked and dodged inside and made her way towards the bar. She leaned her elbows on it, waiting for the bartender to turn so she could get his attention.

"What can I get ya?"

Angharad nearly shouted when he did turn. The man's skin appeared to be rotting off, having turned all the worst shades of green and yellow a bruise or gangrenous limb might and she could clearly see muscles and tendons, even bits of bone here and there. He only had a few wisps of hair of indeterminable color and lacked most of his nose and ears. Now that he was a little closer, there was also a faint smell like something was rotting.

Her face must have betrayed her knee-jerk shock because the corners of the bartender's mouth dropped into a grimace. Trying to save face, Angharad smiled brightly and quickly said, “N-nothing right now, thank you.”

The bartender blinked and gave her a perplexed stare. There was some sort of defect to his eyes, too, a sort of clouding that Angharad suspected might have been cataracts. She wondered if he was going blind. After a long moment where neither of them said anything, he said, “Wait… You’re not gonna hit me? Yell at me? Not even berate me a little?”

“What? No…” Was...was that the kind of treatment he was used to? “Why would I do that? That sounds terrible!”

He glanced quickly from side to side, like he was expecting someone to jump out and announce that the whole thing was a joke, before he answered her. “Because I’m a ghoul?”

Was that why he looked like that? Was that normal for him? Angharad had never heard of such a thing as a ghoul, not outside of scary stories the kids at the Vault would tell each other.  "I'm sorry, I don't know what that is..."

His gaze flicked briefly downwards to the bright yellow 101 on Angharad's collar. "...You must be that kid from the Vault."

Knowing she was the topic of local gossip was uncomfortable, but not surprising. Still, she pulled the jacket up a little to try and cover her number.

“Ghouls are people that get exposed to high levels of radiation but don't die,” the apparent ghoul began to explain. “Most people treat us like shit since we look like walking corpses. But, as far as I can tell, we age slower than smoothskins and are a little more resistant to damage. There's even some ghouls that were alive during the War.”

“Smoothskins?”

“Ah… Normal humans. Non-ghouls.”

“Oh.” Angharad fidgeted at the sleeves of the jacket with her thumbs, thinking for a moment before huffing decisively and held out a hand to the bartender. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. My name’s Angharad.”

He hesitated, looking almost scared to respond to her gesture at first, but he slowly reached out to shake her hand. “I’m Gob.” When they dropped the handshake, Gob glanced over his shoulder as if looking for someone. Not seeing who he was watching for, he leaned down a bit towards Angharad and murmured, “Listen... Moriarty'd have my head if he caught me selling at a discount, but if you ever need anything, come see me. I'll see what I can do.”

The Vaultie gave him a little smile. “I appreciate it, thank you. I’m not really looking for a drink right now, but I do need help with something,” she began. “I’m looking for my father. His name’s James, he would have come through here yesterday, middle-aged guy, black hair that’s going grey, bit of a beard. Have you seen anyone like that?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Angharad’s heart leapt at the news, “but I didn’t really talk to him. I think he just came in to see Moriarty.”

“Where is he?”

Gob looked around, then went to poke his head through a doorway leading to a back room. “I don’t see him,” he said when he came back to Angharad, “so he’s probably smoking out front.”

She nodded. “Thank you!” Giving a little wave, she turned to go back outside where, thankfully, the crowd had thinned. There was only one man hanging around there now; he looked a bit older than her father with more gray hair and a long goatee. He stood leaning forward on the walkway railing, puffing on a cigarette. When he heard her footsteps coming up behind him, he glanced over his shoulder.

“Well hello there!” He had an accent Angharad had never heard before, but it sounded almost exaggerated. “Nice to see such a pretty new face! Name’s Colin Moriarty.” He moved forward to offer a hand to her, which Angharad tentatively accepted with the expectation that he’d shake it. Instead, he brought her knuckles up to his mouth and gave them a pecked kiss. “And you are…?”

“Angharad.” She took her hand back, trying not to shudder visibly. “Lewis.”

Moriarty cocked a crooked eyebrow, bringing his cigarette back to his mouth. “Angharad Lewis…?” He repeated the name like it was familiar and stared at her hard and she pretended not to notice when his eyes flicked down towards her chest. But then his eyes widened in recognition and the cigarette fell. “My God... It's you. The little baby girl, all grown up.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I said it’s been a long time, kid. I ain’t seen you since you were a babe.”

Angharad frowned. “That’s…not possible,” she said slowly, confused. “I was born in Vault 101.”

Moriarty snorted and covered his mouth. “Dear God, is that what your daddy told you?” he snickered. “Oh, the lies we tell those we love.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You weren’t born in that hole,” he said. “Your father brought you there after you were born. To keep you safe, you see, though I can’t imagine why he’d want to. Probably boring as hell…” Moriarty trailed off a bit, then shrugged. “But you lot stopped here, stayed at my saloon with that Brotherhood friend of his. I remember it well.” He watched her face as he dug in his pocket for a new cigarette and a lighter, smirking a bit. “Hadn’t the foggiest idea, did ya?”

Angharad shot him a glare. “You’re wrong. My dad wouldn’t lie to me like that.”

Moriarty snorted again. “You really believe that? Listen, I’ve heard about the brainwashin’ that goes on down there. Some other fella escaped, oh… five years back, I think?” He paused to take a drag of his cigarette. “‘All hail the Overseer! We’re born in the Vault, we die in the Vault!’ And all that other assorted lunacy. Kid, you've got better programming than our own Deputy Weld. You'd best wise up quick. Wouldn't want anyone... takin' advantage of ya. Hmm?”

Angharad leaned back away from Moriarty as he leaned in a bit at the end of his last sentence, not even trying to hide her disgust. She stepped back and brushed her hand off her sleeve. “Look, say what you want, I just want to find my dad. Do you know where he is?”

Moriarty shrugged and leaned back against the railing. “I’ll be straight with you. Your dad was here, then he left. I know where he went and if you want me to share that information with you, it’s gonna cost you, oh… about 100 caps?”

Angharad balked. She barely had that much to her name, she couldn’t afford to give up all her money like that. “...I don’t have 100 caps.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Moriarty said with a shrug, moving to go back inside.

Angharad followed. “Can’t you just tell me?”

“Kid,” Moriarty pushed open the door and let it fall back on Angharad without trying to hold it open for her, “welcome to the world. Information is a commodity, and I don’t give shit away for free. Come back when you get the caps.” He shoved past Gob and went into the back room the ghoul had checked earlier, leaving Angharad huffing by the bar.

“You okay?” Gob asked when she slumped down on a stool.

“...He won’t tell me anything unless I pay him,” Angharad grumbled.

Gob sighed. “Figures. Guy’s a bastard.” He put a chilled bottle of beer down in front of her. “Here. Might help.”

Angharad looked up then dug in her pocket. “How much?”

Gob just shook his head a little and held up a hand. “I can cover this one.”

She gave a weak smile. “Thanks.” She was definitely going to have to come by to see Gob on a regular basis. The guy deserved some kind of friend.

Angharad's entire experience with alcohol had been the times she and Amata had stolen some of her father's scotch. At first, they'd tried it straight. Days later they learned about mixed drinks and worked up the courage to try it again with Nuka-Cola. Her expectations weren't high for the beer, but she didn't want to be rude so she took a drink. On the plus side, it didn't burn all the way down or taste like it could peel paint off walls, but it was bitter with a bit of sourness she was fairly certain wasn't supposed to be there. It could have been worse, though.

Gob leaned back against the wall behind the bar and glanced over at a little radio that had, up until then, been playing music quietly. Now, a man's voice came over the soundwaves, hooting out something that sounded like, "THREEEEEE DOOOOOG," before descending into garbled static.

"Goddammit," Gob grumbled, reaching over to adjust the antennae. When that did nothing, he started banging on it with a fist.

"It's not the radio, honey," came a sigh to Angharad's left. She looked up and caught the eye of an attractive older woman with short, curly red hair. The woman flashed a playful smile and Angharad felt her cheeks go pink. The redhead chuckled and looked back at Gob. "It's Galaxy News, the transmission's been shit lately. The Enclave station comes in just fine." That got Gob to leave the radio be, just turning it down until the static improved before he shuffled off to serve someone who'd just sat.

"Haven't seen you around town before," the woman said to Angharad, leaning on the bar counter next to her. "What's your name, hon?"

"Angharad." She felt her cheeks flush dully again. "What's yours?"

"Nova," she hummed. "Angharad, huh? That's a pretty name."

"Y-yours is, too."

Nova's face lit up with a smile. "Aww, you're so sweet!"

Angharad focused on the wall just behind Nova's head for a second, trying to will her blush to fade before she tur _ ned incinerator red oh my God, Angharad, what is your problem?! _ She coughed a little as an excuse to cover her mouth. A change in subject would be good. "So, what... What was that about Galaxy News?"

Nova raised an eyebrow. "Galaxy News Radio? It's the only decent broadcast around here," she said. "The only other one that comes through clear is Enclave Radio."

"Yeah, I'd heard that one," Angharad said. "Do you know anything about it?"

"Not really." Nova shrugged. "It's been on for years, most people think it's a pre-War broadcast running on loop or something. At least you know GNR is current." She paused, watching as Angharad started fidgeting with the dials on her Pip-Boy, then looked down to her Vault suit. "Oh, you're that kid from the Vault, aren't you?"

"Mmhmm." Angharad was getting tired of hearing that. And of responding.

"That explains it..." Nova muttered, trailing off into her own thoughts.

Angharad found the station, but there was a consistent low-drone of static in the background.  She imagined that would get real annoying real fast, so she turned it off and looked back up at Nova. "I'm looking for my father," she began. "Evidently, he came through here yesterday to talk to Moriarty. Did you see him?"

"Was he in a Vault suit?"

"He should be."

"I saw him coming out of the back. Pretty good-looking. Sorta sad he didn't stick around longer."

"Do you know where he was going?" Maybe she'd be able to get out of Moriarty's extortion.

"No, sorry," Nova sighed. "He didn't say two words to me or Gob. Only talked to Moriarty."

"Oh."

"Sorry, hon." Nova touched her arm softly. Anything else that might have been said was cut short by someone loudly calling for her on the other side of the bar. Nova looked, then offered an apologetic smile to Angharad. "Gotta go. Duty calls, it looks like. Come back and see me sometime, though,” she said, running her hand up Angharad’s arm a little to rest on her shoulder briefly before walking away.

Angharad nodded and waved once as she watched Nova saunter off to go make eyes at the man who'd called her name. She leaned on his shoulder, arms crossed as she asked a question he appeared to answer in the form of a handful of caps. That set Nova beaming as she took them and moved to murmur in his ear. After a moment, she walked away to climb the stairs and the man downed the remainder of his drink to follow her close behind.

Oh.

No wonder she was so friendly. Still, Angharad wasn't in a place to judge. Nova had been nice towards her. And she was cute. The thought brought fresh color to Angharad's cheeks. Some of that had been flirting, right? Nova had flirted with her? Sure, it was probably her job, but still. Back in the Vault, the population had been slowly dwindling. With no new people coming in, the only way the Vault would survive would be through procreation, so there had always been a bit of a push. Young adults were encouraged to marry and start having children, many children, as soon as possible. Anyone like Mr. Brotch who didn't was considered "odd" and faced almost constant social pressuring until  _ somebody _ had a baby. Amata and Angharad had never actually spoken about it, but they knew. They knew. But maybe it wasn't like that out here? They wouldn't have to pretend anymore.

Angharad smiled a little at her beer bottle, rolling it absent-mindedly from hand to hand and so deep in thought she didn't immediately notice Gob had come back towards her.

"I've been asked to pass on a message," he grumbled, clearly not liking being used as a go-between. "Mister Burke wants to speak to you."

Angharad looked up. Was she supposed to know who that was? "Who?"

Gob nodded his head to the left and Angharad leaned back on her stool to see. There was a little seating area around the corner with some (somewhat) comfortable-looking chairs that was largely unoccupied apart from a single man. He looked to be in his fifties and was well-dressed in a pre-War suit and tie. Despite the darkness outside, his glasses looked to be tinted and he had a brimmed hat on the table beside him. When he saw Angharad looking his way, he beckoned her over.

Instead, she leaned back over towards the bar to speak to Gob. "Who is he?"

"Some guy with lots of caps," Gob replied. "He keeps to himself mostly, but he's been all right to me. Asks a lot of questions, though."

"Hm." Angharad quickly downed the last half of her beer and got up. Burke motioned to get her attention, leaning back with a smile when she came his way. "Hello, my dear girl," he said without getting up. "Please, do have a seat." He gestured towards an empty chair next to him and Angharad slid into it rigidly, suspicious of why he'd wanted to speak to her.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he began, holding out a hand to shake hers. "I am Mister Burke."

"Angharad Lewis,"

"Miss Lewis. I am just  _ thrilled _ to meet you,” he reiterated. It was unnerving the way his smile pinched and pulled at his features. “Why, I was just about ready to give up hope and then you appeared.”

Angharad frowned. "...What do you mean?"

“I  _ mean _ you are a free agent. You just left your Vault, after all,” Angharad was starting to hate being reminded of that, “you have no ties to this cesspool of a town, to anyone. That puts you in a rather valuable position.”

She narrowed her eyes a little and shifted away from him. “What is it you want, exactly?”

“I represent certain...interests, my dear girl. And those  _ interests _ view this town, this ‘Megaton,’ as a blight on a burgeoning urban landscape. If the settlement were to…” Burke made a vague, dismissive motion with his hand, “ _ go away _ , then who would really care? Certainly not you, or I…” He patted the breast pocket on his suit. “I have, in my possession, a fusion pulse charge. A small thing, really, but it would be just enough to coax that sleeping bomb below us back to life. All that would need to happen would be for  _ someone _ to attach the charge, then meet me at a secure location to activate it.” From the pocket he produced a disarmingly diminutive little silver dome with a red light on the top and held it out towards Angharad. “Simplicity itself.”

Angharad stared at the device as if it were venomous, only daring to break eye contact with it to look Burke in the eye, not making any attempt to hide her revulsion. “You’re sick.”

“Perhaps, but you would be handsomely rewarded by one of the most powerful men in the Capital Wasteland. Refuse, or even stand in the way of my employer’s plans, and you will live to regret it.” Burke remained outwardly genial, but his words carried a subtle venom. Whoever he was, he clearly wasn’t the kind of man Angharad wanted to end up on the wrong side of. She probably couldn’t afford that. He was right about her being completely unattached. It meant there was likely no one to back her in a fight.

Then she’d just have to handle things herself, wouldn’t she? She’d always been good at that.

“I appreciate the warning, but I think I’ll risk it,” Angharad said, steering the hand holding the infernal charge back towards its owner. “I won’t be helping you.”

“Pity.” Burke frowned and put the charge back in his pocket. “I thought a pile of caps and a life in the lap of luxury would tempt you. But, perhaps, you will find yourself reconsidering. You would do well to side with my employer in this little matter. Life could otherwise become quite unbearable for you.”

“It could,” Angharad dismissed the repeated threat as she stood. “Goodbye, Mister Burke.” Without looking at him again, she went to leave, offering a wave and a small smile to Gob before she went out the door.

The moment the cool night air hit her face, the gravity of what had just happened hit her and she fought a sudden wave of nausea. Had that man honestly just asked her to help destroy an entire town, one that was probably filled with more people than she’d ever met? Angharad shuddered, trying to play it off like a reaction to the cold by pulling the lapels of Butch’s jacket tighter around her chest. What were the chances he would get someone else to place the charge? She couldn’t even begin to guess. Should she tell Simms? She entertained the thought for a moment, but decided against it. No, it was better to just permanently disarm the bomb as soon as possible, that way nothing evil could ever come from it.

She paused by the bomb on her way back to Simms’ home, looking around to see if anyone was around to watch her. Especially now, she didn't want word getting around that she was tinkering with it. Seeing no one, Angharad approached, lighting it up with the light from her Pip-Boy. After circling it a couple times, she found a panel to pry open and get a closer look at its innards. At first glance, it was all hopelessly complicated, a mess of ancient wires and parts she couldn't recognize. But after studying it, parts began to look familiar. It  _ was _ complicated, but not hopeless. She could see analogs to the inner workings of some of the Vault’s more impressive computers, like the mainframe. Stanley had helped her wire in her Pip-Boy to that before once, when they were worried the main computer system was about to crash. Here were the same kinds of connections Stanley had shown her and if she followed the wires down… Yes, this had to be it! Angharad carefully replaced the panel and looked around again. She'd have to get some supplies before she tried, but she was certain that she would be able to disarm the bomb permanently.

 

* * *

 

 

_ Dear Dad, _

_ In your note, you said I might be angry and you're damn right I am. I want to call you an asshole for leaving like that. You got Jonas killed, Amata nearly killed, and me kicked out or else I'd have been killed. And there were other people who died.  _ ~~_ I killed someone _ ~~ _ You aren't the one who actually hurt them, but you were the reason. I hope one day you'll take responsibility for your part. _

_ But, I've thought about it, and I think I'm mostly just hurt. I wish you would have told me, or left me an explanation, or just, I don't know, said goodbye? I got blindsided. In a way, things still don't feel real, like I'm going to wake up in my bed and all of this will be a dream. I know I'm too old for that, but still. It's a feeling I can't shake. _

_ I met  _ _ ~~an old friend of yours~~ _ _ someone ~~who~~ says he  _ ~~_ knows you _ ~~ _ spoke to you in Megaton, but he won't tell me where you went until I pay him. He also says that we didn't come from Vault 101, that you brought me there when I was just a baby. I don't  _ ~~_ believe _ ~~ _ know if he's telling the truth. I don't want to believe you've spent my whole life lying to me, but, thinking about it, there have always been things that never made sense. Why don't we have any other family in the Vault? There were others with our last name, but they didn't act like we were related. Then there's little comments and things different adults have said, but quickly pretended they didn't.  _ ~~_ Why the Overseer hates me so much even though Amata and I _ ~~

_ I just want to talk to you. I hope I find you soon. _

_ \---Love, Angharad _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angharad's poor little gay heart can't take the strain lol
> 
> I know the beginning is slow so far, but the pacing should pick up a bit here soon. Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading so far! :D


	7. Settling In

Craterside Supply was positioned almost on top of Doc Church’s clinic with a massive painted sign over the door, so it was easy for Angharad to find the next morning. Simms said it was the main shop in town and that the owner, Moira Brown, did a lot of business with the traders that came through frequently, so her stock was always changing and she was always up for buying. Angharad wasn’t expecting to get much for the junk she’d found, but it was worth a shot.

As she approached the door of the shop, Angharad heard a series of pops followed by a loud bang that shook the platform under her feet. Immediately after, a man in leather armor burst out the door, covering his face as he coughed and tried to wave away the smoke that billowed after him. “F-fucking… Crazy bitch,” he choked.

“Oh, come on! It's just a bit of smoke!” someone called from inside the building. A woman with violently red hair twisted up in a messy bun appeared with her hands on the doorway, leaning out after the man.

“Hell no!” the man bit back.

“Don't be like that! I promise, this is perfectly safe to breathe!” It struck Angharad how incredibly chipper and sunny she sounded. The woman finally noticed Angharad standing there awkwardly, wondering if she should get involved, and perked up even more if it was possible. “Oh hi! Someone new! Welcome to Craterside Supply!”

“Is...everything okay?” Angharad asked slowly, leaning to try to look past the redhead at the inside of the shop.

“Don't worry about it. Just a teeny little miscalculation. But it was so informative! The next experiment will go so much better, I can feel it! Let's just…” she used her foot to slide a heavy rock to hold the door open, “...let this air out a bit.”

The woman ducked back inside, disappearing from the doorway. Angharad and the man who'd run out exchanged looks. “I'm going on a fucking break…” he grumbled, walking past her to go back down the ramp.

“Excuse me,” Angharad said, stepping inside the shop. The woman had already gone back to tinkering with some hunk of metal sitting on a work bench. “Are you Moira?”

“Yup!” she looked up, wiping a grease-covered hand off on her loose-fitting, grey coveralls before she held it out for Angharad to shake. “Moira Brown, at your service! Need something repaired or looking to buy, I'm your girl! But what I _really_ do is experimentation and research.” The hunk of metal behind her started making a sound akin to a metal ball stuck in an air vent and Moira quickly picked up a wrench to smack it, making it stop.

“Um… Hi, nice to meet you,” Angharad said uneasily. Moira was certainly...excitable. “I'm Angharad Lewis.”

“Oh! You're that stray from out of the Vault. Ohmygosh you're even in a Vault suit, I haven't seen one of these in forever!” Moira tugged a little at Angharad's sleeves and held her at arm's length to examine her. “Well, not an unaltered one, anyway.” She paused to gasp excitedly. “Oh oh oh! I need to get you to write the foreword for my guide, oh my _gosh_ it would be so _perfect_ to have a Vault dweller’s take!” Ignoring Angharad's wide-eyed look of quiet fear, Moira squealed excitedly. “Well?! Will you do it?! Please?”

“Do what now? Hold--hold on a second, could you back up a little?” Angharad held up her hands in a “slow down” gesture. “What do you mean ‘unaltered?’”

In response, Moira pointed back over her shoulder. Angharad was surprised to see a jumpsuit from Vault 101 pinned to the wall behind the shop counter. It had clearly been there for a while--it had a bit of dust and grime on it--but the odd thing was it had been reinforced with pieces from some kind of armor. “I made that for a girl who came out of the Vault, oh… Ten or twelve years ago?” Moira explained. “Poor thing didn't know a thing about the Wastes. I offered to armor her Vault suit for her, but she never came back for it. I always assumed she died out there.”

“That's...awful.” Angharad tried to sound sad instead of just confused. The Vault was supposed to have been sealed for the past 200 years, but there was this suit and what Moriarty had said… Hadn't he also mentioned meeting someone else who'd escaped?

“Yeah…” Moira sighed. “But, I think it's where I got the inspiration to write this guide. Say, if you write the foreword for me, I'll give you the suit. What do you think?” She perked back up at the thought.

“What kind of guide is it?”

“I’m calling it _The Wasteland Survival Guide_ ,” Moira said, brimming with pride. “It’s a dangerous place out there, and I really think a lot of people could benefit from some good, solid advice.  I’m going to put in information about finding food, water, shelter,” she began to count down on her fingers as she listed the topics, “how society has begun coming back, how you can make some of that Old World tech work for you, and, of course, the kinds of hazards that exist in the Wasteland and how you can avoid or beat them. What do you think?”

“That actually sounds really helpful,” Angharad said, “but wouldn’t the people out here know that already?”

“Not necessarily. A lot of people never leave the settlements they’re born in.”

At least the Vault wasn’t too different in that regard. “Makes sense.”

Moira nodded enthusiastically. “So, will you do it? Will you write the foreword for me?”

Angharad offered a nervous smile. “I’d love to help, but I’m really not much of a writer.”

“That’s okay! You could just tell me some about life in a Vault and I can put something together! Oh, hold on!” Moira went behind the counter and dug out a holotape recorder, and Angharad smiled a bit more genuinely.

“All right, but it’s really not all that interesting. Not much really ever happened,” she said, approaching the other side of the counter.

“Try me.” Moira hit the big red record button. “So, Miss Vault Dweller, could I get you to introduce yourself? I know you already did, but, you know, for the record?”

“My name is Angharad Lewis, and up until recently I was a programmer in Vault 101.” Moira’s enthusiasm was infectious. Angharad found herself almost enjoying talking about herself for once.  
  
"Oooh, so a Vault scientist! How fascinating!"  
  
Angharad blushed a bit. "N-not really, I mostly just worked with the computers. I was a glorified maintenance person, really. I was a ways away from doing any real science."  
  
Moira gave a dismissive wave. "Pff, whatever. So, what was it like down there?"  
  
"It... It was nice," Angharad said slowly. "Temperature controlled, artificial sunlight, renewable sources of food and water. A bit claustrophobic sometimes, there's so little space even just compared with this town, and with the entrance sealed there was never a way to ever meet anyone new." She thought briefly about her and Amata. "Things were rigid, you had to conform. No one could ever speak against the Overseer, either. But..."  
  
"But?"  
  
"But it was safe. The Vault was peaceful, I never had to worry about food or water or shelter or much of anything, really."  
  
"Why did you leave?"  
  
"My dad. I don't know why, but just woke up one morning and he was gone. The Overseer went crazy and sent the security guards after me, I sort of had to leave."  
  
"Runaway dad, huh?" Moira sighed. "I've seen plenty of those, but none with a big 101 on their back."  
  
Angharad gave a half smile. "It's all right."  
  
"I hope you find him."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"So... Oh! What was it like seeing the sun for the first time?!"  
  
"Bright," was Angharad's knee-jerk response. "Really, really bright. I couldn't see anything and almost ran right off a cliff thing. I'm still not entirely used to it yet, I think." She paused for a second. "What I’ve really liked seeing are the stars. They're even prettier than I thought they'd be."  
  
Moira smiled. "They are nice. Romantic, even.” She paused briefly, and Angharad assumed she was trying to think whether or not she had more questions. “Well, I think I've got everything I need for the foreword! Unless there was anything you wanted to add."  
  
"Not really," Angharad shook her head.  
  
"Great!" Moira turned off the recorder and turned around to the armor displayed on the wall. "Welp, a deal's a deal. This is for you!" She pulled down the jumpsuit and folded it up for Angharad. "I hope it does well for you," she said, handing it to her.  
  
"Thank you." Angharad folded it over her arm. "Um, so, Lucas Simms said I could maybe sell you some things I found?"  
  
"Oh! Of course! Lemme see what you've got."  
  
Angharad opened the bag she'd borrowed from Simms and unloaded the items she was willing to part with. She and Moira haggled a little bit back and forth as Angharad also asked after supplies she needed. After everything was said and done, Angharad handed over 20 caps to make up the difference of what her barter wouldn't cover. She ended up with a bit more ammo, an actual backpack, some sewing supplies, and a couple cheap medical supplies, bandages but no stimpaks or chems.  
  
"So, what's a good way to make money around here?" Angharad asked once the money finished exchanging hands.  
  
"Scavv, mostly," Moira replied. "There's plenty of ruins and stuff around, but be careful of raiders and feral ghouls and stuff."  
  
"Feral ghouls?"  
  
"Oh, right. Have you met Gob?"  
  
"Yeah..."  
  
"Well, he's a normal ghoul. He's pretty much just a person, but some ghouls go kinda crazy. The radiation eats at their brains or something and they attack anything that moves pretty much. Have you ever seen a zombie movie? They're basically that."  
  
"Oh..."  
  
"Yeah..." Moira’s expression dimmed for a second before she perked right back up. "But, if you find any cool junk or anything while you're out there, be sure to bring it back to me, I'll give you a good price."

“Will do.” Angharad gave her a thumbs up.

* * *

 

 _Dear Amata,_  
  
_I'm starting to get the hang of things, I think. I've been slowly picking my way through this old factory I found, bringing any scrap that isn't bolted down back to Megaton to sell. Moira buys most of it, and Walter at the water treatment plant has started paying me for any good scrap metal I find. At 10 caps a piece, it's well worth the space it takes up in my bag and it looks like the factory used to make those little Red Racer tricycles so there's tons of it. Remember when you used to have one? We'd try and race it up and down the long hallways when we thought there weren't any adults around, but someone always caught us._  
  
_I'm still not any closer to finding my dad. The only person who knows where he went won't say until I pay him. Unfortunately, I keep_ ~~_getting injured_ ~~ _needing to spend money on_ ~~_medical supplies_ ~~ _food, ammo, and supplies and stuff, so it feels like the money's gone as soon as I get it. It's hard to spare 100 caps. It's slowly getting a little better now that I have the deal with Walter going, but still._  
  
_Not knowing what's going on back home is hard. It's not so much that I miss the Vault as I miss you. It would be so much easier if we could at least exchange letters, but clearly that's not going to happen. Writing these ones helps, but only a little. And I'm worried about you. Your dad has to have found out you helped me and after what happened with him and Officer Mack_ ~~_I'm scared you'll end up like Jonas_ ~~ _I'm worried you'll get the blowback from all this. I'm so sorry for everything Dad and I caused._ ~~_I just have to keep telling myself the Overseer won't let anyone actually hurt you_ ~~ _You told me before I left you'd be okay. I just have to trust you. And I do, it's just hard not to worry._  
  
_As soon as things are a little more stable, I'll leave something by the Vault door for you. Megaton is close and it's safe. I'm not sure if I'll be able to figure something permanent out here, but I can try to make sure I come back here as often as possible to check for you. I promised I'd come back for you, didn't I?_  
  
_Sorry, this is getting long and you aren't actually going to read this. Writing some of these thoughts down has been helping,_ ~~_but I shouldn't keep pretending_ ~~ _and I really, really, want to believe I'm going to see you again. The alternative still hurts too much. Please be safe, and I love you._  
_  
\--Anna_

* * *

 

It took three days of runs to the Red Racer factory, of getting accustomed to enemies that didn't shoot back (the factory, as it turned out, had been well populated with the feral ghouls Moira had warned her about) before Angharad was up for returning to the school in Springvale. She'd gotten practice sneaking up on enemies and shooting while moving, so she was somewhat confident. Plus, she'd managed to get her hands on a fireman's axe, so if she ran out of ammo...  
  
The bodies of the two raiders she'd killed before were gone--moved, probably--and there was a new patrol outside in the back. But there was only one of them, and Angharad had a strategy this time. She levelled a long rifle and waited for him to turn his head before she fired, hitting him right between the shoulder blades. He didn't go down immediately, but did after a second shot to his gut. Quickly, Angharad moved in. She assumed that, after the first incident, the sound of gunfire would be quick to draw other raiders. While they moved towards the back doors, Angharad crept in the front, hoping to sneak in, hide, and start picking them off one by one. Only after a full sweep of the place would she go back and see what she could find.  
  
Any doubt that remained in her mind of the morality of dispatching the raiders disappeared once she entered the old entry hall. Immediately, the stench of blood and rotting flesh hit her and nearly made her gag. Dismembered bodies hung from the ceiling on meathooks and another laid on a blood-stained mattress within a sort of jail cell Angharad doubted had been in the original floorplans. Fighting back her horror and revulsion, the Vaultie pushed forward.  
  
It wasn't long before she encountered someone, a man stalking through the hallways with a baseball bat on his back and a gun on his hip. Angharad switched to the (relatively) quiet pistol Amata had given her and waited for a clear shot at the back of his head. She focused on her breathing to calm her anxiety and steady her hands.  
  
_Breathe... It's no different from before._  
  
Finally he turned and she took the shot. He went down immediately. Angharad only paused to take his weapons on her way to a new hiding place. She'd come back to check his pockets properly later when she was no longer in danger of being found and shot herself. Once she was sure the quiet around her was stable, Angharad resumed her systematic progress. There were a total of seven raiders remaining in the school, and Angharad was able to take them out with barely any incident. Three did catch her, but only one had a gun and he'd been a bad shot. Overall, she didn't get hurt too badly, just a few bumps and bruises that would be sore in the morning.

Once everything was said and done, Angharad had amassed a decent pile of loot. She gathered all of it on the floor in the back part of the building where the ceiling and half the walls were blown off. The light was better out here, and the fresh air was nice. There was plenty of space for her to sort through everything, too. The raiders had been well-stocked with plenty of supplies and other miscellaneous things, so much that there was no way Angharad was going to be able to tote all of it back to Megaton in one trip. She needed to prioritize and come back for the rest later if she could.  
  
Or maybe she could find a cart or something. Angharad considered the idea. It wouldn't hurt to try. She knew she hadn't seen anything in the building and instead focused her efforts outside. Over where she had hidden the first time she'd come by the school, she found an impromptu mechanic's setup with tools and bits of scrap around and a motorcycle propped up next to the building. It looked like someone had been trying to get it running.  
  
"I wonder..." Angharad circled it, staring closely. She'd seen several cars and motorcycles around, wrecked on the side of the road or hopelessly rusted. This one, for whatever reason, looked to be in half decent condition. The paint job had probably seen better days, but other than that... She checked the gas tank and found actual liquid, not the foul sludge that was left in most vehicles she examined. Fresh fuel. The ignition had a piece of metal stuck in it to replace the key and the seat and handlebars had been patched back together into something that looked mildly comfortable to handle. The tires, though patched, and perhaps a little balding, were solidly filled with air.  
  
_Holy shit, I found a motorcycle._  
  
Angharad excitedly climbed onto the back, adjusting to how she thought she was supposed to position herself. She gave the handlebars an exploratory twist, pumped the brakes, and tested her weight on the footpegs before tying the ignition. She had to be careful not to cut herself on the metal shard, but the machine successfully  sputtered and growled when the metal was twisted, only to fall silent when she released it and the ignition fell back to its resting position. Frowning, Angharad tried again. "Come on," she murmured. "Come on, work for me. You can do it." She kept up a soft stream of pleading encouragements as she kept trying, hoping her efforts weren't actually breaking it. After a couple tries, she wondered if she was doing something wrong and tried a couple different combinations of key, clutch, choke, and throttle until, finally, the vehicle coughed and grumbled to life.  
  
"Yes!" Excited, Angharad kicked out the kickstand and twisted the throttle hard. Too hard. The wheels screamed below her and one second she was she was watching the ground in front of her and the next she was staring at the sky. The bike bucked up onto its rear wheel and toppled sideways, spilling Angharad onto her back and falling on top of her legs.  
  
It took her a second to process what had happened. She managed to sit up enough to shove the motorcycle off her legs and double checked to make sure she could still move her toes, despite how ridiculous doing that made her feel. The bike was heavy, but not that heavy. Only thing she really injured was her pride. Angharad stood the bike up, turned it off, and checked it for damage. It looked fine, but then again Angharad was just now learning that maybe she had a very limited understanding of motorcycles. She considered trying to ride it again, but decided against it, instead testing how difficult it was to push. For right now, at least, it could act like a cart. Save her from making a second trip.  
  
She wondered what Moira would pay for it.  
  
By the time she returned to Megaton, it was already late afternoon, nearly dusk. The hum of insects was starting to die down and the air was slowly getting cooler. The motorcycle had been somewhat difficult to push up hills, but she'd made it. As Angharad stood by Deputy Weld, considering the gate and how best to handle the bike, she heard the approaching click and hum of a motor that was surprisingly familiar now. She turned and saw a man approaching on his own motorcycle. This one looked much more cared-for with a matte green paintjob and a pinup girl stenciled on the sides of the gas tank.  
  
"Hey, whatcha got there, Vaultie?" he called, grinning. Angharad recognized him as Billy Creel. Maggie had introduced her to him, he was the scavenger who took care of her ever since her family was killed by raiders. Angharad thought he was nice and imagined, with no small degree of amusement, how fascinated Butch and his Tunnel Snakes would be with Billy. He looked like something out of a movie: dirty-blonde hair half hidden under a bandana, a black patch over his right eye, and decked all in black leather. All that and the motorcycle made him look like a pre-War badass biker.  
  
But Billy was far more genial than those characters. He parked his bike next to Deputy Weld and approached Angharad, crouching to look at her find. "Wow, someone's been workin' on this," he said, impressed. Angharad had heard his same accent before in a movie; Mr. Brotch had called it "Creole." She just liked the warm lilt his words had. "Where'd you find this?"  
  
"The school in Springvale. I, um...kicked the raiders out..."  
  
"Really? Good on you, Vaultie." He grinned a disarming smile up at her. The thought made her blush, but she could certainly see why women might like a man like him. "They've been causin' Sheriff and the caravans some problems. Good riddance, I say." He stood and looped his thumbs in his pockets. "Whatcha plannin' on doin' with it?"  
  
"Well, I was probably going to show it to Moira, see what she'd give me for it."  
  
Billy gave a derisive snort. "You don't wanna keep it?"  
  
Angharad thought of her attempt to ride it and flushed dully. "...I don't know how to ride it."  
  
"Oh, I can show you!" he said enthusiastically. "It's rare to find one in working condition. One of those raiders must have been trying to restore it. They're usually a good bet for parts, if you've got the firepower. A lot of them will maintain bikes." Billy stood back up, still appraising the motorcycle. "But yeah, they're good out here. Loud, though, so I wouldn't take one just anywhere, but if you know where you're going you can outrun just about anything."  
  
It certainly sounded like the motorcycle would be useful, particularly if it could help Angharad bring back more from scavenging trips. "What can they run on?"  
  
He gave a noncommittal shrug. "I buy the stuff Moira sells, I'm usually the only one who does. But you might be able to get her to teach you how to make it. I think it's based off flamer fuel or something."

Angharad nodded a little. "Okay, thanks."

“Sure thing.” Billy went back to his bike and started to wheel it towards the gate, gesturing for Angharad to do the same. They parked them just inside and Angharad started unloading what she wanted to take to Moira.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moira is an absolute gem and I love her.
> 
> I will stand by my damn motorcycles, dammit. The Enclave gets fucking vertibirds and every other raider camp has a nice-looking motorcycle parked nearby. Plus it provides an explanation for fast travel.
> 
> Admittedly, this chapter isnn't particularly good. It's primarily filler, I guess. It and the next chapter were originally a single one, but it got a little too long.


	8. Learning Curve

There was a dull aluminum  _ clink _ as Angharad dropped a small pouch of caps on the bar counter. "Hey, Gob. Is Moriarty around?"   


The ghoul nodded and pointed towards the back. "You want me to get him?"   
  
"If you could."   
  
Gob nodded again and went back to get him. The old man's grimace changed to a smirk when he saw who was asking for him. "Oh, hello. Come up with the caps, have you?"   
  
Angharad held up the bag. "Where did my dad say he was going?"   
  
Moriarty didn't answer immediately. Humming, he took the caps from Angharad and weighed them in his hand. "Where's the rest?"   
  
She frowned. "What do you mean? It's all there, count it."   


“This is only about a hundred. The price is three.”  
  
Angharad's stomach dropped. "You said one hundred!"  
  
"I offered you a deal for one hundred, and you turned me down." He dropped the pouch. "I believe I also said information is a commodity. Demand has gone up, kiddo, and I'm the only one supplying."  
  
Angharad gritted her teeth, trying not to notice the looks she was beginning to get from Gob, Nova, and everyone else in the saloon. It felt like they were burning the number on her back into her flesh. She could only imagine what they were thinking, what they were whispering to each other. _Oh that dumb, naive little Vault Girl. She should have known, should have just given him the caps then, shouldn't have waited. Why's she being stupid, telling him no then coming right back?_ _What did she think was going to happen?_  
  
"I didn't say _no_ , I said I didn't have the money right then, but I have it now!" she said, trying hard not to raise her voice, to keep calm and not let him see the way he scraped under her skin. "We had a deal, Moriarty."   
  
"Well, the deal's changed, sweetheart."  
  
"You shaftin' kids now, too, Collin?" A bald man at the end of the bar dressed in leather armor looked over, smashing the end of a spent cigarette into an ashtray. "Didn't think you were into that."  
  
Angharad's cheeks burned and she focused hard on a knot in the wood of the counter. She heard Moriarty make a sound like a snarl.  
  
"Shut the fuck up and mind your own damn business, Jericho," he said.  
  
Jericho chuckled and pulled another cigarette out of a pack, lighting it with a small lighter he kept cupped in his hands. "What? I'm just sayin'...”

“No one wants to hear it.”

Jericho shrugged and turned back to his beer, but his comment had given Angharad a chance to collect herself. She hadn't let a bully get the better of her since she was little, and that was what Moriarty was, wasn't he? He was just considerably older than the bullies she was used to dealing with. But ultimately, she was still only in control of her own actions.

“Hey,” Moriarty looked back at Angharad when she spoke, “the original deal was for one hundred caps. That was reasonable. Besides, people are only going to pay you for information when they have reason to trust what you say. Isn't it bad for business to go back on your word?”

Moriarty blinked, then chuckled as he stroked his beard a bit. “Well, now. You've certainly got more spunk than I thought. All right, since I'm such a softie, I'll honor our original agreement. Your dad was here, but not for long. Said he had some important business to attend to and went off towards the city, something about Galaxy News Radio. Guess that would be the place to start.”

Angharad nodded tersely and handed over the caps. It wasn't much, but it was something. “Thanks.” She gave a slight wave to Gob and left, trying not to think too hard about the words Moriarty had used. "Important business." The phrase brought a flame of anger back to Angharad's chest and she thought about the note her dad had left her. She may have a next stop, but she was no closer to figuring out the why behind his sudden disappearance.

Moira was near the gate when Angharad arrived back at the Simms residence, chatting the ear off some poor travelling trader when she caught sight of her.

“Ooh, ooh! Hey!” Angharad had the sneaking suspicion that Moira had already forgotten her name, but approached when she waved her over, the trader taking the chance to escape. “Could I ask you to help me maybe? I need to get all this back to the shop.” She gestured to a couple bins filled with what looked like junk and scrap that she must have just bought.

“Sure.” Angharad went to pick up one of the large bins. It looked heavier than it actually was.

“Thanks! I really appreciate it!” Moira picked up the other and walked off.

“What is all this?” Angharad asked, following.

“Supplies!” Moira sounded excited. “And research material! I think I can finally finish fixing up that generator I've been tinkering with and he had some great specimens of tech for me to play with! This chapter of my book is really coming along great! Thanks again for your help before.”

“It's no problem.” Angharad shifted the box so she could look where she was going. “Hey, Moira, do you sell maps?”

“Mm, no, not really. Correct maps aren't easy to come by. There's really only one group collecting any actual data.”

“Oh…”

“But!” Moira chirped up, looking back to grin at Angharad. “I do have a cobbled-together thing you can look at! May not be perfect, but it's good for general directions!” They arrived at the shop and Moira braced her box on her hip as she went for her key. “It might be enough info to put into your Pip-Boy. Don't those things have tracking or something? Oooh, you have got to let me take it apart someday! I promise I'll put it back together! Or...try my best to.”

“W-we’ll see…” Angharad gave an awkward smile, following Moira inside. She was still working on setting the box down when she heard the rustling of papers on the counter.

“So, where are you looking to go?”

Angharad looked at the map Moira had retrieved. It looked like an old pre-War map of Washington, complete with subway lines, that had been heavily annotated. Parts were blacked out, new locations marked, “roads” drawn. In a few places, a blank sheet of paper had been pasted over the existing map and the relevant details sketched by hand. It was more impressive than Moira had let on.

“Oh, wow."

“The tricky thing isn't so much coordinates,” Moira explained, “but routes. The city got hit pretty hard when the bombs fell, a lot of places aren't traversable anymore. And if you want to get anywhere near Downtown, the surface routes are totally out of commission. You have to go through the subway but even then half the tunnels are collapsed.” Moira traced some old roads with a finger to illustrate, drawing attention to the sections that had been blacked out. “But Downtown is a death trap, you don't want to go there. Where is it you're looking for?”

“Wherever Galaxy News Radio is broadcast from.”

Moira winced. “Oh…”

“Oh?”

“...how badly do you need to get there?”

“It's where Moriarty said my dad was headed.”

“Oh… Oh dear…” Moira rubbed the back of her neck. “You want GNR plaza, then. It's right here.” She pointed to what was actually one of the map’s original markers. “Not  _ quite _ in the middle of D.C., but… It's… It's still really dangerous. There are super mutants everywhere.”

“What are those?”

“Oh, um, big green nasty things. I think they used to be human, but now they're one of the biggest dangers in the Wasteland. They're not too bright but they've got numbers and firepower. They eat people, too.” Moira looked at Angharad with the most serious expression she'd seen her wear. “I really don't think it's a good idea for you to go there.”

Angharad chewed her lip, staring at the map. “...I have to. It's the only lead I have.”

Moira sighed, her mouth scrunched up as the wheels of her mind turned. “Well… Maybe… It would be a little safer if you didn't go alone. You could hire someone?”

“Like a bodyguard?” Angharad turned to look at the man in leather armor who sat bored by Moira’s workbench, the bodyguard she'd hired to watch her shop. Angharad had never seen him do much of anything useful.

“Don't look at me,” he snorted. “I'm stayin’ right here.”

“Yeah, like a bodyguard!” Moira perked up a little. “Someone who knows the Wastes. They might be able to teach you more about to handle yourself, maybe do some practice runs before you go Downtown. Oh!” She gasped excitedly and slammed her hands on the counter. “You could help me with research! I have a bunch of dan--I mean, exciting things that need to be tested before I write them down! It would be perfect! And I could pay you, of course!”

“That could be good…” Angharad said, half to herself. “Do you know anyone?”

“Mm, that's the problem,” Moira sighed, “I don't. Your best bet is probably to keep an eye on the caravans. Or ask around the common house. There has to be someone who's been out in the Wastes, right? And I'll keep an eye out, too.”

“Thanks, Moira. Really.”

* * *

Angharad had gotten into the habit of getting herself a bite to eat at the Brass Lantern periodically, partially to keep an eye on the Megaton bomb just across from their outdoor bar. The thought that Mr. Burke might try to hire someone else to rig that pulse charge to the bomb made Angharad anxious, and she wanted to try to keep an eye on it. It had taken her longer to find the supplies she needed than she would have liked; she didn’t even need that many things, but the recent excursion to the school had provided the final pieces she needed to hook her Pip-Boy up to the thing. She hoped to disarm it sometime after the Lantern's outdoor area closed, when the general traffic through the area died down.

Until then, it was only early evening and Angharad wanted to hang around. She had the gadget in the pocket of her slightly oversized and well-worn blue jeans she’d bought from Moira to wear with the red pre-War shirt she’d found. She was fairly certain both had been intended for men originally, but she still got fewer weird looks wearing them than she did with her Vault suit. And, after the addition of a belt and several washings, they were fairly comfortable.

Jenny Stahl greeted her with a smile and Angharad gave her a nervous one back. She was almost surprised to find she was shy with new people, but when had she ever had to socialize with strangers before? It didn’t help that Jenny was pretty.

“Hey, there, what can I get ya?” Jenny asked as Angharad slid into one of the seats. “I have some stew that’s still fresh, if you’re hungry.”

“Sounds good, thanks.” Angharad waited patiently while Jenny turned to dish up the food, only vaguely paying attention when a man puffing on a cigarette slid into the chair one down from her. She didn’t look to see who it was until Jenny turned back around and dropped her smile.

“Hey, Jenny.” The bald man from the bar gave Jenny a smile that she didn’t return.

“Jericho,” she responded flatly. As if he wasn’t there, Jenny offered Angharad a smile when she handed her the food. “That’ll be six caps.”

Angharad nodded and dug out the money from the pocket of Butch’s jacket, glancing over at Jericho. Part of her wanted to thank him for, what, sticking up for her? Saying something to Moriarty, distracting him long enough to let her get her head together so she wouldn’t give up and leave without her information?

“Hey,” Jericho looked at her out of the corner of his eye when she spoke, “it's Jericho, right?”

“What do you want, kid?”

“Just… I wanted to thank you for before. With Moriarty.”

Jericho snorted. “The fuck?” He looked at her for a second before he recognized her. “Oh, you’re that Vault asshole. Tch, you didn’t think I was trying to help you, did you?”

“Not...really.”

“Good.”

“But...you still kinda did,” Angharad said slowly. “So… Thanks.”

“Whatever.” He turned back towards Jenny as she put a bowl of stew in front of him and he paid her.

They sat in silence, eating separately. Angharad would have liked to talk to Jenny some, she was nice, but she’d clammed-up as soon as Jericho arrived and kept herself busy with something on the stove so she wouldn’t have to make eye-contact with the man. Jericho watched her like he was waiting for some kind of an in to start a conversation, occasionally opening his mouth to say something when it looked like she might be turning around. Clearly, there was something to it.

Eventually, Angharad heard Jericho sigh. "It's good you got him to back down. Moriarty needs to be taken down a peg every so often."

She looked up a little.  _ He must be bored, _ she thought. Still, she didn't mind the conversation. "I can imagine." Jericho had a different vibe to him than the other people she'd met in town. He was the only one in town besides Moira's hired mercenary to wear armor regularly, and he almost always had an assault rifle in a strap on his back, like he expected to need it at any given moment. By her best estimates, he was a little older than her dad, but the weathering on his face aged him. There was clearly some degree of care for his appearance, though; his head was perfectly shaved and his beard was trimmed in a neat circle to keep it off his cheeks and jawline.

"Yeah, fucking Irishman," Jericho grumbled. He produced a flask and took a swig of whatever was inside. "I'll do odd jobs for him here and there, but it's a bitch and a half trying to get him to pay up sometimes."

Irish. The accent was Irish. Angharad nodded and glanced down at her stew as she poked at it with her spoon. "Are you from Megaton? Originally?"

"Nah." Jericho made a dismissive motion with his hand. "I'm from the Wastes. Used to... Well, let's just say I was a different man back then."

"So you know about the Wasteland? How to survive and fight out there and stuff?"

"'Course. Spent twenty-five goddamn years in it." He considered her for a moment. "To be honest, I'm surprised you haven't bit the big one yet. Heard some kid climbed out of that Vault and assumed they'd get shot or something right out the gate."

"Yeah..." Angharad said awkwardly. "Good... Good thing that didn't happen."

Jericho grunted an affirmation. "It can be hell, but there's a freedom out there. A man can be his own man. Or, a woman can or...you know..."

Angharad gave a little close-lipped smile. Jericho was rough and rude, but she liked him so far. "No one's ever left the Vault before, and I didn't have much time to prepare, so I've been having to learn on my feet a lot."

"Doesn't look like you're doing too bad. You're not dead."

"True. That's always a good start." Angharad thought for a moment, debating whether or not to try her idea. He'd probably just say no anyway; Jericho didn't seem like the helpful type. Still... What did she have to lose?

"Have... Have you ever thought about getting back out there?" she asked.

"Back out where?"

"In the Wastes. I mean... You seem kind of bored here."

Jericho snorted and shook his head. "Man... I'm retired. All I plan on doing the rest of forever is sit here and spend my caps on booze." He paused for a second. "Besides, what crew would take me on? I'm a washed-up old raider. Been out of the game for years." The cigarette finally burned down to the very end, all but burning itself out. Jericho took it from his mouth and smashed it in the ashtray on the bar. "Those kids out there, they ain't got respect like we used to. Skill used to mean something, you know? Now it's just... Loudest leads or some shit."

Angharad decided to push a little further. "What about me?"

Jericho gave her a look. "What about you?"

Jenny looked back over her shoulder at them, the first indication she'd been paying any attention to their conversation, and Angharad shifted. "Well, there's still a lot I don't know about Outside, and, like you said, you spent twenty-five years in the Wasteland." She sat up a little taller, leaning with her elbows on the bar. "You have skills I need to learn. Quickly. What better person to learn from than a master?" A little flattery couldn't hurt. "And you'd get to go out there with someone watching your back. I'm a decent shot, and I have some medical knowledge."

Jericho's kneejerk reaction was to snort derisively. "Go back out there with you?" But after he dug out another cigarette, he furrowed his brow as he considered her offer. "You aren't exactly my kind of people, kid. But, what the hell? I'll do it."

Angharad perked up instantly. "Really?!"

"I got two conditions, though." Jericho held up two fingers. "I get a portion of any loot, and you pay me a thousand cap fee up front."

"Oh." She scrunched down a little. "I don't have that right now..."

"Well, I'm gonna need some supplies," Jericho said, taking another swig from his flask. "So I'll need that before I go anywhere with you."

She should have expected something like that. "All right. I'll let you know when I get it."

"You do that." With that, he finished eating and stood. "See ya, Jenny."

Jenny ignored him, only shooting a sharp look back over her shoulder when she heard him walk away. When he was gone, she turned back to the counter and Angharad. "Hey, I don't mean to stick my nose in your business or anything, but I'd hate myself if I didn't warn you," she said, keeping her voice low. "Don't... Don't trust Jericho, okay? He's not a nice guy. Really."

"He did let slip he used to be a raider..."

"Yeah. And..." Jenny hesitated. "Just... Well, he isn't the kind of guy you want to be alone with out there. If you do hire him, keep a gun close, okay?"

"I will," Angharad said, nodding. "I appreciate the warning."

Jenny nodded back and went to go serve someone else who'd sat down.

Angharad stuck around even after she'd finished eating, quietly working on assembling the mechanism to connect her Pip-Boy to the bomb. The Lantern's diner never got too busy, so she was able to stay in her seat until Jenny started closing up. After she shut off the lights over the counter and went inside, the only people around were those periodic few coming and going from the bars. Angharad double checked her supplies before she went to open the panel she'd found a few days before. The wires she needed were easy to find again and she gently teased them out, trying not to think too much about what she was doing and how  _ completely insane _ this was.

_ Pretty sure hooking your Pip-Boy up to an atomic bomb voids some kind of warranty...  _ The thought made her snicker.

But it worked. Not like she hadn't thought it might, but she'd assumed it would be more difficult. This was easier than getting into the Vault's mainframe. A few inputs into the command prompt and it was done; everything was disconnected. But Mr. Burke and his pulse charge were fresh in her memory and she wasn't certain what either were capable of. Just so she could be absolutely sure nothing he did would wake it up, Angharad pulled what innards she could out of the beast. She loaded the bits and bobs in her bag, planning to sell what she could and throw the rest away in the Wasteland. Scatter it to the four winds, Amata might have said. She loved phrases like that from books.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I get an odd level of satisfaction from Jericho's intro line for some reason.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	9. People Are Talking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed my mind about POV shifts. I was planning on having some later, but I realized it would feel dumb to start them only halfway through.
> 
> Feel free to ignore the rambling author's note at the end of this chapter. Thank you to everyone who reads and feel free to leave feedback in the comments!

Amata tried to ignore the way the diner fell silent when she entered. She just went and sat down alone in the back, her limbs aching and protesting as she lowered herself into the booth. The thermal packs had been helping with the visible bruises but had done little for the deeper pain. Without a doctor, though, it was the best she could do. She supposed she was just lucky Mack hadn't broken a bone. The person working behind the counter brought her something to eat and drink, noticeably silent. Amata barely even looked up to see who it was. In the days since Anna left, the Vault had been looking for someone to blame. Some of that anger was being directed at Amata, from both sides of the slowly growing social fissure. She could hear it when the silence that had followed her like a cloud gave way to whispers and murmurs, no matter how subtle people thought they were being.

_...the Overseer's daughter...guilty as he is..._

_...killed Jonas for doing what she did, you know._

_...just watched him die..._

_Heard she helped_ **_that girl_ ** _escape...murderer...shot Stevie Mack..._

_...opened the door...put us all at risk, just like them..._

_...selfish..._

It didn't seem to matter to anyone that Anna would have been killed if her father caught her, that he'd commanded Officer Mack to beat his own daughter black and blue when she wouldn't tell them where Anna was, that Amata still had a brilliant bruise on her forehead from when Officer Wolfe tackled her to the ground by the open Vault door, that Mack might have killed her and Anna like he did Jonas, and Anna had warned him, she never wanted to shoot him, Amata had seen her hands shake, she'd warned him three times...

The Nuka-Cola bottle was cold in Amata's hand. She held it briefly to her aching forehead before opening it, hoping to soothe the mild headache she had again. James would have been concerned, would have evaluated her carefully for signs of brain trauma or a concussion while Anna hovered anxiously. She wondered if maybe her father would have bothered to come. Maybe he would have glared at them from the doorway in a show of control and veiled concern she had never really seen but always thought was there. Hoped was there, rather. He would never show actual worry for her well-being, he was always all business, always the Overseer, and all this was his fault. James might have still left, but Jonas and everyone else would still be alive and she'd have Anna...

The silence quickly shifted back to quiet conversation. At first, Amata ignored it, but there wasn't anything else going on around her, so she gradually began listening in.

"...'s a nuclear wasteland."

"But it's been 200 years, maybe..."

" _Nuclear. Wasteland._ "

"What could possibly still be out there?"

"Even if the radiation has faded by now..."

"Yeah, there can't really be people out there, right? Right?"

"They're both probably dead by now."

"Leaving the Vault would be suicide."

"Like we're doing much better?" Amata heard herself say. The huddled group that had been talking looked up, surprised to hear her speak. To be honest, Amata hadn't exactly meant to say that out loud; she normally would have meekly kept her comments to herself, but listening to them insult Anna and James was grating on her already frayed nerves. Amata removed the soda from her forehead and turned to look at them. "We're dying down here, too."

The group shifted uncomfortably. It wouldn't be until later, when certain secrets came to light, that it struck Amata how it was only ever the younger residents, those around her age, that speculated about what James might have been hoping to find. Those who were older usually pointedly ignored what was said. A few, though, would look down and shift around like they were uncomfortable until they eventually got up and left or the conversation stopped. That alone should have indicated to Amata that something was going on.

"But if it weren't for them--" Janice Wilkins began, no doubt about to repeat something her father had said following her brother's death that night.

"James opening the door isn't the reason any of that happened, and you know it," Amata bit back. "Everything would have been fine if Daddy... If the Overseer hadn't sicced his security on the Vault."

" _They_ didn't set the fires, though," Christine Kendall pointed out, defensive. Her dad was an officer.

"Did James? Or Angharad?" When no one responded, Amata continued, finally venting all the anger and hurt she'd been sitting on for days. "They were on the other side of the Vault. Maybe the door opening had something to do with them, maybe it let more radroaches got in, maybe they would have swarmed anyway and it was just bad timing, but we wouldn't have had nearly so many injuries or deaths if Security had been there to help instead of combing the Vault for one girl."

Most of Amata's peers scoffed and muttered, shaking their heads, but a few continued to pay attention to her. Others in the diner began to take an interest in the discussion as well, but Amata was more or less done. Her head was nearly pounding; she wanted to go lie down.

"Besides," she said as she moved to stand, "James wouldn't have left if there wasn't something out there." Not waiting for more questions or looks, Amata collected her drink and untouched meal and left to eat by herself in Anna's room.

Her room, now, she supposed. She'd moved in as soon as she'd been able to get out from under her father's thumb, too angry to want to be near him. Of course he'd thrown a fit, started shouting and yelling as soon as he realized what she was doing: _"Amata, you stop this right now, I am your father and Overseer, you will listen when I am talking to you!"_ He grabbed her arm, her chin, tried to make her stop and look at him, acknowledge him, but she kept her eyes focused on literally anything else. In his frustration he called for someone from Security. Luckily, the one who arrived was Mr. Gomez.

_"Sir, she's just upset. Let her be for now,"_ he said, and her father listened because he would know how to deal with a moody teenager, wouldn't he? He was Freddy's father, after all. _"It's a phase."_

It most certainly was not, but Mr. Gomez was smart enough to know that was the only thing her father would understand; trivialize whatever she was feeling because she didn't _really_ feel that way. Amata could _never_ be so contrary on her own; it always had to be someone else's influence. She was his perfect, obedient little doll of a daughter. Just like always. She knew the only reason she'd escaped more serious punishment for helping Anna was her father didn't really believe she'd done so on her own. It would be too much agency on her part.

Maybe he had a point. She'd stayed here in the Vault, after all.

In all the chaos and stress, no one had cleaned out Anna and James’ apartment. When Amata arrived, everything was just how they left it. Habit and leftover respect prevented her from disturbing the room of her friend's father, but Anna’s room was her safe place. It had been a relief to see all that Anna had been able to take with her given her pitifully insufficient warning, but there was a guilty twinge of disappointment, too. Amata had been hoping to find something to remind her of her friend, some sentimental scrap to hold onto so she could pretend Anna wasn't really gone. It wasn't as though Amata had rooted through all Anna's drawers, so there could have been some small, forgotten token in them, lying in wait, but for now, she soothed herself in the evenings by hugging and curling her body around Anna’s pillow. She could still catch traces of Anna's scent on the bedding, but that wasn't going to last long. Until then, though, it still felt like her bed. Amata had never known it to be so _wide_ before; she'd always shared it with Anna. Part of her regretted every time one of them had huffed about not having enough room, saying it was too small for two people. Alone, it was clear that it was too large for just one.

Amata locked the door behind her and climbed into the armchair she'd been nesting in, wrapping herself in her blanket to be comfortable while she ate. Had the Vault always been so freezing? She couldn't remember. Was it grief, then? Frowning, Amata shook the word from her head. No, that implied she'd lost Anna for good. They'd promised they'd see each other again, and Anna always kept her promises. Amata liked to think she did, too, or tried to. It was hard sometimes.

It was interesting to learn about herself, but Amata found that she completely lost interest in food when she was upset enough. She spent more time poking at the mash on her plate with her fork and moving it around than actually eating. Still, she could imagine Anna huffing and glaring at her every time she considered giving up: _“Mata, come on, you have to eat. You'll get sick. Here, you'll feel better, I promise...”_ It helped some; she managed to get through most of the plate before it started feeling like wet concrete on her tongue, prompting her to finally set it aside.

Was it bad that she kept having imaginary conversations with Anna in her head? Probably. Not like there was anyone else who'd talk to her, though. Sighing, Amata curled her knees up and hugged them, wrapping her body head to toe in the blanket so she could doze.

She stayed like that for a while--she wasn't sure exactly how long--before being startled by a light knock on the door. She instinctively scrunched down, hoping whoever it was would give up and leave.

“Amata?”

Her head shot up when she recognized the voice, but it was a moment before she slid off the chair, shoulders still wrapped in her blanket, to go to the door to verify the unexpected visitor. Amata opened the door a crack and peered out at Mrs. Palmer--“Old Lady Palmer,” the others called her. She was Jonas’ grandmother and one of the oldest Vault residents.

The old woman smiled softly at her. “Hello, dear. May I come in?”

Amata's stomach twisted up in knots, thinking about all the whispers she'd heard where people blamed her for Jonas’ death or for not dying like he did for her part in helping Anna. She didn't want to have this conversation, not with the woman who'd raised Jonas after his mother died. What would she say? What could she say? Sorry your grandson is dead, but hey, I'm alive?

In her hesitation, Amata almost shut the door back, but Mrs. Palmer held up a little dish covered in a towel and smiled a little more. “I heard you’d barely been coming out for food, so I brought you something.”

The idea of more food was unappetizing, but the offer confused Amata enough to get her to step back and let the older woman open the door enough for her to enter. Mrs. Palmer smiled again, offering her the dish, and Amata wasn’t sure if that was actual concern for her wellbeing she saw in her eyes or grief from her loss. Did she have any more family left in the Vault? Amata didn’t think so, and the realization made her nauseous. What could she possibly want to talk to her about, of all people?

“I thought maybe some sweet rolls would tempt your appetite,” the grandmother said. “All you kids have always seemed to love them, and I thought some comfort food might help.”

Amata stared blankly at the dish. “...Thank… Thank you, ma’am,” she murmured.

“You’re quite welcome, dear.” Mrs. Palmer smiled. When Amata didn’t move for a moment, she gently slipped the dish out of her hands, setting it on the table, and guided Amata back to her chair. “Those brutes certainly did a number on you,” she sighed, brushing Amata’s bangs back so she could see the bruise on her forehead. “How does your head feel?”

Amata didn’t know how to answer. This whole thing was too odd, too confusing. Why was Mrs. Palmer concerned for her? She practically had as much responsibility for Jonas’ death as Mack did for not trying to stop him. Since Mack was dead, she expected to get all the anger directed at her. All the muttering she’d heard seemed to back that up.

“It… It could be worse.” Amata pulled back slightly, keeping her gaze down so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact. “Mrs. Palmer, I… I’m… I’m so sorry. I should have done something for Jonas, but I didn’t and…” She paused to take a shaky breath. “I’m as responsible as Officer Mack and my father. I know saying I’m sorry won’t--”

“Amata Maria Almodovar, that’s enough of that,” Mrs. Palmer interrupted sternly, almost angrily. “You don’t honestly believe any of that?”

“But--”

“You had nothing to do with Jonas’ death.” The way her voice didn’t even waver confused Amata. It was like she’d already accepted what had happened. Or maybe anger gave her focus? “That was all Security and the Overseer.” She reached up to gently cup Amata’s cheeks to pull her gaze up. “You couldn’t have stopped them.”

“I could have done---”

“Stop. You are not responsible for this, for any of the awful things that happened.”

Amata could feel tears threatening to fall. “You should hate me.”

“Says who? Those gossiping ninnies?” She made a sound of disgust. “People will always talk, there’s nothing you can do about that. Half the time they have no idea what they’re talking about, and you shouldn’t let them get to you.”

Amata felt herself nodding, not so much because she really believed what Mrs. Palmer was saying, but because she wanted to. “Okay…”

They sat together for a while, not saying anything else, and Amata would have been lying of she said she wasn't grateful for the company, especially when she felt an odd sort of kinship with the older woman. She’d never met her own grandparents, couldn't remember her mother, so she wondered if this is what it would feel like to have one of them here to comfort her. They'd had similar losses, and probably felt a similar anger at the Overseer for them. _At Daddy,_ she told herself, the thought making her stomach twist. God, despite everything he was still her family, wasn't he?

She wasn't sure if she wanted him to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love playing with Amata and Angharad's names both meaning "beloved," so Amata's initial's are sorta the root-word for her first name I think? At minimum, it encourages a reinforcement of her given-name's meaning.
> 
> I like name symbolism and overthinking things. To be fair, the second one is the entire reason this fic exists in the first place.
> 
> Now might also be an appropriate chapter to babble about this, but it really irks me that the LW is supposed to canonically be male. There are so many father-daughter pairs that I think the story would have been stronger if it had leaned on that father-daughter relationship aspect. We (obviously) have Amata and her dad, the Lyons family, Sydney and her dad, Ashur and his daughter from the Pitt DLC, and maybe more that I'm forgetting? It's a mother-daughter pair, but Nadine and her mother from the Point Lookout DLC is almost related to this trend as well, could be better related if we expand the relationship to just parents and daughters. But honestly? There aren't a lot of father-daughter stories out there that aren't focusing on the father trying to protect his "baby girl" from a sexual relationship with a man as he reconciles her womanhood with the child he raised, and the idea of having a story focus more on an emotional, interpersonal aspect really appeals to me.
> 
> I ramble, I'm sorry.


	10. Let's Go

_ "Seems we've got--da da-da DA!--a bit of news! Just listen to this! Got some great news out of the town of Megaton. Turns out the live atomic bomb in the town center has finally been deep-sixed for good. Reports on the identity of this mysterious do-gooder are spotty for now, but you can be sure GNR will find it out for you, children. But really, it's just good to know the place won't get spontaneously vaporized, right?" _

Angharad frowned at Moira's crackling radio and Three Dog's announcement. She had hoped to keep the whole thing about her disarming the bomb quiet. There were only a few people who knew it had been her, but clearly word spread just as fast out here as it did in the Vault. It didn't help that Simms had given her the key to a vacant house in town as thanks. People tended to take notice when an entire house was seemingly just given away. She figured it was only a matter of time before everyone in town knew, and Three Dog wasn't helping her any.

Moira looked over her shoulder and grinned at Angharad. "They're talking about you," she said.

"Sort of."

"It isn't like Three Dog to not have your name, almost nothing in the Capital Wasteland gets by him," she commented, digging through her tool box. She was still trying to fix the generator on her workbench. "I give it a couple days before he updates the broadcast."

"Hn." The prospect wasn't exciting. But Burke already knew, or at least strongly suspected. She passed him the other day, coming out of the bar. He gave her a pointed glare over his sunglasses, hands uncomfortably close to his belt. As he passed, Angharad could have sworn she heard him mutter something to her. She missed the words, but it was clearly an unfriendly warning. No one had seen him since, both Jenny and Gob had commented on how odd that was. She assumed he'd gone back to his employer, whoever that was. Once he did, it would probably only be a matter of time before he made good on his initial threat.

Moira seemed oblivious to Angharad's internal frustrations as she fiddled with the generator. “I swear I've almost got this…” From what Angharad could tell, it was either a vanity project or fixing it had something to do with her book. Megaton had several generators running it, this one might be helpful but it wasn't necessary.

“Oh, so, about helping me with research…” Moira looked over her shoulder for a second. “I have a couple things left that I need for this chapter, if you’re still interested.”

The change in topic piqued Angharad’s interest. Yes, she had enough money to hire Jericho now, after finishing this latest round of trading with Moira. She knew she should probably go talk to him sooner rather than later so maybe they could head out tomorrow morning, but she was enjoying Moira’s company. Something about her felt homey.

“Of course I’m interested. What were they again?”

“Well, I need rad sickness research--”

“And I told you I’d talk you through that one,” Angharad interjected flatly. There was no way in hell she was going to purposely give herself radiation poisoning, not when years of helping Dad in his clinic gave her enough medical knowledge to write down the information Moira was after. “And you can fill in any blanks talking to Hoff next time he comes by.” She would have suggested talking to Church instead, but that would interfere with his number one rule. It was more productive to just wait and talk to the travelling doctor whose route passed Megaton.

Moira gave a bit of a disappointed pout. “Fiiine, I guess that works. I’d just rather have first-hand research, you know? In that case, the last two things for this chapter are runs to Minefield and the Super Duper Mart.”

“What’s the Minefield one?”

“The area used to be a town, but slavers hit it a long time ago. Now it’s covered in land mines and some people say there’s a ghost there.” Moira barely looked up from the machine as she spoke. “It’d be great if you could investigate it for me, maybe get to like… I dunno, the middle of town? There's supposed to be a playground there. Ooh! And I’ll pay extra if you bring me back a mine! Plus caps for any others.”

“Sounds good.”

“Fantastic! Here, lemme show you where it is!” Moira went to pull out her map, spreading it out carefully as she scanned for the appropriate mapmarker, Angharad watching curiously. She had already marked a few things on her Pip-Boy’s internal mapping system. It would make finding things out here so much easier.

On Moira’s map, the dot indicating the ruin was annotated by a tiny drawing of a cartoonish bomb. It was also much further north than Angharad had ever been. “How much of a walk is that?” she asked, dialing it into her Pip-Boy.

“Hm. Not sure. Maybe a full day? Day and a half? Depends on how much trouble you get into and how fast you travel.”

“Fair.”

“When do you think you'll head out?”

“Hopefully tomorrow, but I'll need to make sure Jericho is still onboard.” Angharad paused to look at the clock on the Pip-Boy. “I should probably go find him. I'll talk to you later, Moira.” 

“See ya!”

Finding the old raider wasn't hard; even though it was only barely creeping into evening he was already nursing a beer at Moriarty’s. Happily, the owner was nowhere to be found and no one was harassing Gob too badly. His face lit up when the Vault Dweller arrived and he immediately moved to offer her a drink as she slipped onto the barstool next to Jericho.

“Not tonight, thanks,” she said, leaning closer to the counter to try and make eye contact with the hunched over Jericho.

“Whaddya want, kid?”

“Still up for travelling with me?”

Jericho have her a look out of the corner of his eye. “You got the caps?”

In response, Angharad dropped a bag on the counter in front of him. “Yup.”

Jericho blinked and raised his eyebrows, reaching for it. “Well. All right, then. I'm all yours. When are ya planning on heading out?”

“Could you be ready by tomorrow morning?”

“‘Course.”

* * *

 

Jericho arrived at Angharad’s house earlier than expected, she was only half ready, but he didn’t seem to mind waiting. Or, at least, he didn’t verbally complain. When Angharad let him in and went to run back upstairs, he just gave an unamused grunt and glanced around at his surroundings. The house was nice; more spacious than Angharad's apartment in the Vault with two stories, two bedrooms, and plenty of open space. It had come with a few pieces of rudimentary furniture, but otherwise it had very little inside for now. Angharad didn't have the caps to spare to spruce it up just yet.

When she was came back downstairs, dressed in her armor and carrying a backpack, she saw Jericho examining the one decoration she did have on her wall; the framed, stitched quote she'd grabbed during her escape. She didn't have to look at it to remember what it said; she'd been hearing it all her life:

_ I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life, freely. _

_ \--Revelation 21:6 _

Jericho glanced back over his shoulder when he heard her come down. “What’s this?”

“It's a Bible passage. It was my mother's favorite quote, and my father's, I guess.”

“What's it mean?”

She paused on her way to the kitchen, thinking. “In context, I have no idea. Dad never wanted to talk about why my mom liked it.” He never wanted to talk about her much at all, actually. “Another thing to talk to him about when I find him, I guess.”

“He run off or somethin’?”

“Something like that.” Angharad went to the kitchen and filled her bag with enough water and food rations for the trip, resuming her explanation when she returned. “He left the Vault, and I was forced out after him. He stopped to see Moriarty and where he went after was the information I wanted out of him.”

“That where we're headin’ now?”

“Not yet. He went towards D.C. and I need more experience first. This is a job for Moira. We're going to Minefield, do you know where that is?”

Jericho made a face. “Yeah, unfortunately. Place is a death trap.”

“She wants information about the land mines, and she'll pay extra if we bring any back.” And Angharad wanted to learn how to deal with them herself.

“Could be worse, I guess,” he muttered. “She’s crazy as fuck.”

Angharad smiled a little. “Ready to go?” Jericho gave a grunt in response and went towards the door. Angharad followed and locked the door behind them when they were outside. When she turned, she had to jog to catch back up with her companion. “So, Moira says it’s about a day’s walk there. I thought we could get there, camp, and come back in the morning.”

Jericho gave her a look. “You takin’ criticism on that plan?” 

Angharad blinked. “How come?”

“‘Cause I don’t wanna look for land mines in the dark,” he quipped. “The tops of most of them glow, but they could be buried.”

“Oh…” She briefly thought about her motorcycle, but she still wasn't very good with it and had only taken it on short excursions so far. She had no idea if it would hold up, or if the noise would attract danger, and decided against it. “Well… What do you suggest we do?”

Jericho didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he fished a cigarette out of his pocket and lit is as they exited the Megaton gate, rolling his eyes a bit as Deputy Weld raised an arm as if to wave and called out for them to, “Have a good day, pardners.”

“We should camp somewhere then move in on Minefield in the morning,” Jericho said finally. “Scrapyard, probably. How many days worth of supplies you got?”

“About three or four?”

“Good, that should be enough. We might end up spending the whole day in Minefield if there’s enough loot.”

“Great!”

Jericho didn’t look amused by her enthusiasm. He grumbled something to himself, puffing on the cigarette. After a few minutes, he spoke again: “All right, kid, I'm gonna lay down some ground rules so we don't get our asses killed, got it?” The way he said that made Angharad suspect he was primarily talking about her getting him killed. “One, you keep a weapon on you at all times, where you can reach it.” When he paused to look at her, she gestured to Amata's 10mm on her belt and the hunting rifle slung across her back. If she hadn't been walking, she'd have also pointed out Butch’s switchblade in her boot. “Okay, good. Two, you keep your equipment in good condition. Check it over every time we stop for a while, but  _ don't  _ put all your weapons out of order at once, for Christ sakes.”

That made sense, but Angharad wanted to push a question. “Even if we're somewhere safe?”

“There is no ‘safe’ out here, are you kidding me? Third, always be alert, keep an eye out for snipers and slavers and deathclaws and shit.  _ Do not _ risk both our hides getting drunk or high out here, there's enough of those kinds of idiots out here.”

“A lot of raiders I've fought seemed like they were on something,” Angharad observed.

“Yeah, and could they shoot straight?”

“Not usually.”

“There ya go. I've seen a lot of morons get taken out easy because of that. If you wanna do that shit, wait until we're behind a city wall or something and then stay away from any fights.” Jericho paused, squinting through the sunlight to look around at the fields of ruins around them. “If you can, try to avoid big open areas like this. They're good for an ambush. Try to make sure you can always find cover.”

“But wouldn't we be able to see someone coming?”

“They can see us too. On the other hand, also try to avoid getting trapped in a tight space. Good way to get riddled full of holes.” Jericho scanned the area, looking for something. “And watch out for high places in the middle of nowhere. Those are great spots for snipers.”

“Got it.”

Jericho nodded firmly. “And, kid…” He paused as if he remembered something, stopping abruptly to turn to look at her. “What the hell is your name, anyway?”

“It's Angharad.” She was almost expecting him to never bother asking at this point.

He looked like he regretted asking, too. Jericho sighed heavily and ran his hand down his beard. “Christ, do all Vault assholes have names like that?”

Angharad smiled a little, trying to take it as a joke. “Just me, I think.”

“You got a nickname? No way I'm gonna even remember how to pronounce that shit.”

“You can call me ‘Anna’ if you want, I guess.”

“That's better.”

Angharad nodded and continued to follow behind him, trying to pretend none of that about her name bothered her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Jericho. I know he's an ass and a horrible person, but in game most of his voicelines are just him being a grumpy old man and complaining.
> 
> This chapter marks a milestone for me: I've finally run out of content I'd worked on while I was at my horrible, horrible job I was at for a year and a half.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading! I hope you're still enjoying it! :D


	11. Chekhov's Gun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative chapter title: Well, I think I'm funny
> 
> First tag update, yay!

It was late afternoon when the pair crossed a dry riverbed and Jericho pointed to a fenced area in the distance. “There’s where we’re gonna camp. Scrapyard.”

Angharad squinted from under her ballcap. She dug it out of her bag relatively early on when her nose and cheeks began turning pink and painful. Jericho rolled his eyes and lit another cigarette, but didn’t make a comment on it, just grumbled about them being too out in the open to stop. She hoped her skin got used to the sun soon so she would stop getting so many burns. Just one more downside of growing up in a Vault, she supposed.

“Get your gun out,” Jericho said, readying his own assault rifle. “There might be raiders around. We’ll wanna clear the place out before we hunker down.”

Angharad nodded, taking out her pistol and making sure the safety was turned off. “Is this a major spot for them?”

“Eh, it’s a spot lots of people will try and turn over for scrap, so it can be,” he said offhandedly. “Stay close and quiet, you hear me?”

When Angharad nodded, Jericho led the way towards the gates of the chain link fence. The place was aptly named; it appeared to be a pre-War scrapyard filled with old cars, buses, and other mechanical things stacked in tedious piles. Angharad wondered if she’d be able to find scrap to sell to Walter or Moira, but there was plenty of evidence of previous scavenging. Anything good had probably been carried off a long time ago. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to look, right? Maybe she could even get Jericho to help carry things back.

A shout made both of them jerk their heads up. Angharad gripped her weapon tightly as Jericho raised his. There were gunshots and Jericho dropped into a crouch behind a car, reaching an arm back to pull Angharad down with him like he thought she wasn’t going to react fast enough. He held his rifle at the ready and motioned for her to follow as he moved in the direction the sounds had come from, still low and not coming out from cover. Angharad could hear the struggle getting louder as they approached.

More shouts, the _rat-tat-tat-tat-tat_ of an automatic weapon, a loud _bang_ , and Angharad was practically running when she heard a scream, ducked around Jericho, and stumbled out into a clearing in the cars covered in blood and smelling of powder. She could see two people--bodies?--on the ground and two more standing, squaring off against a large dog. They were filthy and wearing the mismatched patchwork armor of raiders. One wielded a baseball bat studded with nails and the other just had a knife, but she was trying to dive around the dog to get to an SMG on the ground. Neither had seen Angharad yet. She heard Jericho behind her shouting for her to “GET THE FUCK DOWN!” The dog lunged up and grabbed the wrist of the one with the bat and pulled as the man cried out and tried to kick at it.

She raised her gun and fired.

Five shots and the raiders were dead, but the dog still fought the one in its grip after he stopped moving, snarling viciously. Angharad swallowed and kept her gun up, unsure if the dog would turn on her. When Jericho grabbed her shoulder and yelled at her (“What the fuck was that?! Are you _trying_ to get your ass killed?!”), the dog finally realized the enemy wasn’t moving anymore. It was like a switch flipped, Angharad watched it back off and run for a man slumped in a corner, whimpering, whining, and pawing at him. Angharad pushed past Jericho to rush over.

“The fuck?! Are you listenin’ to me?!”

“He’s hurt!” Angharad skid to kneeling beside the man and flung her bag on the ground beside her. She expected the dog to snarl at her or something, but it just looked up at her with big, sad eyes as she checked for a pulse.

“He ain’t hurt, he’s dead,” Jericho said flatly. When Angharad sat back on her heels after finding nothing, he added, “See?”

Angharad returned the dog’s sad look. “I’m sorry.” It seemed to understand and laid down with its head on its former master’s lap, big pointed ears drooping.

“Poor asshole was probably out here scavenging when the raiders ambushed ‘im,” Jericho mused. “We should take the guns and supplies, no point in leavin’ them for someone else.”

“What about the dog?”

“What _about_ the dog?”

It looked up at Angharad. She had limited experience with dogs. The one time she had encountered one on her scavenging trips, it had belonged to a raider. This one looked different with a thick coat of dappled black and grey fur that had a bit of a shine to it. Its eyes were bright and she noticed now that they were mismatched; one blue, one brown. One tall ear perked up a little then flopped back down.

“We can’t… We can’t just leave it.”

“Sure we can.” Jericho bent to pick up the dropped SMG and examined it. “What? You wanna take it with us?” When Angharad hesitated, he shot her a look. “I’m not your dad, kid. Do whatever the hell you want.”

Angharad looked back down at the dog and made eye contact with it.

Well.

* * *

 

Once camp was set up, Jericho busied himself with finding supplies for and building a fire while Angharad went back to try to coax the dog away from the body of his former owner. He was still in the same spot she left him--head and front paws resting on the man’s leg. It was heartbreaking, and Angharad was feeling less confident in her ability to tempt the dog away. Still, she had a few strips of brahmin jerky in her pocket to offer him. If food was the quickest way to a man’s heart, maybe it would work on man’s best friend?

At least the dog didn’t growl at her when she approached, he just looked at her with big, sad eyes as he scrunched down, like he was worried Angharad would try to pick him up and carry him away.

“Hey there, boy,” she murmured, kneeling down beside the dog. “How’re you doing?” When the dog didn’t respond (as if she thought he might?), she sat down fully and just looked up at the sky. The sun was beginning to set, throwing the horizon into brilliant colors. Jericho said the sky here was clouded by radiation more so than other places, and honestly, she couldn’t imagine what that must look like. Maybe it was closer to the books and paintings in the Vault, the ones that featured a bright blue sky instead of this patinated blue-green one. What would the sunset look like there? The stars?

“Must be nice,” Angharad murmured absent-mindedly. She heard movement and glanced at the dog. He’d lifted his head when she spoke this time. “What do you think? Have you seen blue skies before?” She reached over to scratch his ears. “I’ve only ever lived in a Vault before this, you know. Everything out here is still so new and exciting. A bit terrifying, too, but still exciting.” She paused. “And maybe a bit lonely. I had to leave my… I had to leave Amata behind, and I haven’t been able to find my dad yet. I’ve found a few people to talk to, but I’ve been spending a lot more time alone than I’m used to.” The dog gave a contented sigh and leaned into her hand. Angharad smiled and continued scratching him. “I bet you’ll get lonely here by yourself. Why don’t you come with me, hm? We can keep each other company.” She moved to scratch under the dog’s chin. “You look so pretty and fluffy and strong, I’ll bet he took good care of you, huh? And you just _love_ getting petted, too. I’ll be sure to pet you lots and lots and feed you and keep you safe. Does that sound good?” The dog opened his eyes to look at her and Angharad took the smaller piece of jerky out of her pocket and held it out to him. Initially, he recoiled, but after a second he leaned to sniff at it cautiously, looking up at her. “Go on, you can have it.” She held her hand open, palm up, to offer the dog the treat, and after a moment of indecision, he snapped it up, passing it to his back teeth to try to shred it enough to swallow.

Angharad smiled. “There you go. Isn’t that good? I bet you’re hungry.” The scavenger still had a messenger bag slung across his torso, and Angharad opened it on a hunch. There were quite a few supplies inside, so she would definitely be taking it back with her to camp, but more importantly, it had what she was looking for: several cans of dog food. “Is this what he was feeding you?” she asked, pulling one out to show the dog. His ears perked up and he stared at the can intently, tail wagging a little. Angharad cracked a smile. “Apparently so. I can’t really agree so much with you on the whole eating two-hundred year old food thing, but there are these cake things I had the other day that were good. Stale, though. Probably not good for dogs, either.” She examined the label. “No expiration date. Huh. What did they put in these things?” With the bag in one hand and the can of dog food in the other, Angharad stood up, the dog following her with his eyes. “I’m going to go back to camp. You wanna come? I’ll bet Jericho has a can-opener.” She brought out the second piece of jerky and danced it back and forth a little, showing it to the dog. “I also have another one of these for you. If you’d prefer.” When the dog didn’t get up, she took a couple steps away before turning back to hold out the jerky. “C’mere, boy. You want it? Come on!” She patted her leg a little and gave a whistle. The dog hesitated, looking back up at his former master, but hunger or perhaps acknowledgement of the fact that he was gone won out in the end. He stood up and walked over to Angharad, allowing her to lead him a few more steps away before she gave him the jerky. “Good boy,” she cooed. When the dog finished the second piece, she took a couple more tentative steps away and he followed, allowing her to lead him back to her and Jericho’s campsite.

“I was startin’ to wonder if you were gonna come back,” Jericho said. He was sitting on his bedroll next to a small fire he’d started, taking the raiders’ SMG apart. “I see you got the dog to follow you.”

“Yup. You have a can opener?” She held up the dog food to show him.

“Yeah, give it here,” he said, holding out a hand for it while the other dug around in his bag. When Angharad handed it to him, he opened it quickly, nose curling a bit at the smell. “Ugh, I hate these things.”

Angharad took it back and sniffed it. “It isn’t that bad, is it?”

Jericho gave her a look. “I’ve got a bad association. Let’s just say sometimes finding food in the Wastes is very difficult.”

She made a face. “Ew.”

“It’s better than starvin’,” he said with a shrug.

“Sure…” There was a bowl in the scavenger’s bag and Angharad dumped the contents of the can into it before she set it down on the ground near her bedroll. The dog gave it a singular sniff before digging in, tail wagging. Angharad smiled at him and sat down on the bedroll to watch him. “What do you think his name is?” she mused.

Jericho rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “Fuck if I know, kid.”

She tilted her head, thinking. “What’s a good name for a dog? Rover?”

“I will leave right now if you call that dog ‘Rover.’”

Angharad flushed dully. “Oh. Okay. Um… Do you have any suggestions?”

Jericho puffed on a cigarette he’d taken from the pockets of one of the raiders. “Dogmeat.”

“Dogmeat?!”

The dog’s ears perked up and he looked at her.

“Yeah, why not? ‘S what he’ll probably end up as if you use him as an attack dog.”

“I am not… That’s a terrible name!”

“Let’s see what he thinks. Dogmeat!”

The dog looked at Jericho, head tilted slightly.

“C’mere, boy.” Jericho patted his leg. “Dogmeat!”

The dog stood up and Angharad incredulously went “No!” as he cautiously sniffed over to the now laughing Jericho.

“Seems like he disagrees with you!” he said. “Isn’t that right, Dogmeat?” He reached out to pat the dog’s head, laughing more when his tail wagged as Angharad groaned and held her face in her hands.

* * *

 

They packed up camp early enough to see the sunrise. Angharad doubted she’d ever really get used to all the colors the sky could turn. Jericho seemed oblivious to it, just rolled his eyes when he caught her staring at it and grumbled for her to get moving, they still had a lot of walking in the day ahead. Dogmeat trotted beside them, close to Angharad like he’d been all night. She was happy he seemed to trust her already. He was still a bit wary of Jericho. Memories of stories from books trickled up, reminding her that dogs were supposed to be able to inherently judge a person’s character, and Jenny’s warning was still in the back of her mind. Maybe it was a good idea to be a little wary.

Eventually, they hit the remains of a neighborhood much like Springvale; most of the houses were just charred, rotting beams and a pile of rubble and dust atop a foundation. Some distance away, Angharad could see a handful of buildings that were still standing. As they got closer, she could see that they were houses in a circular cul-de-sac, the spaces between blocked by a makeshift wall of rusting cars and trucks.

“There it is,” Jericho said, pointing. “Watch your step from here on out, all right?”

Angharad nodded.

“You know how to disarm a landmine?” When she shook her head no, he sighed heavily. “You at least know what one looks like?”

“Not exactly…”

“Christ, kid. Here, follow behind me.” Jericho started walking slow, looking around and taking very deliberate steps. Angharad did the same, hanging back a couple feet and keeping a close eye on him. She felt Dogmeat lightly brush against her leg as he crept beside her, like he sensed the changed mood.

It wasn’t long before Jericho held up a hand to get them to stop. Motioning Angharad forward a bit, he pointed to a little blinking red light on the ground about ten feet away. “See that? It’s a frag mine. Get too close and it’ll start beeping. You’ve got a few seconds after that to hit that flashing red button on top to disarm it.”

“Okay.”

“If you don’t already have eyes on it and you hear one start up, don’t bother looking for it,” he continued. “Just back up the way you came. Fast.”

She nodded again. “After you disarm it, is it safe to pick up?”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll see, gimme a second.” Jericho crouched down and moved quickly towards the mine. When he got a few feet away, the light started blinking faster as the mine emitted a high-pitched beeping that sped up as Jericho continued. Angharad held her breath, bracing for disaster, but Jericho calmly reached down for the mine, hitting the blinking red button and silencing the beeping. He picked up the dirt-colored metal disk and Angharad forced herself to breathe again.

“See? Not too bad,” he said nonchalantly, handing the mine to Angharad. “Just gotta be quick.”

She nodded, turning it over in her hands. “I guess?”

Jericho gave a nod back. “All right. We should split up a ways if we’re both gonna work on disarming them. And maybe leave the dog.”

“Oh, right.” Angharad looked around at the ruins of the houses and found one with a bit of ceiling left over a corner of the ground floor that had a couple pieces of broken furniture. She patted her leg to get Dogmeat to follow her (as if he wasn’t already) and led him over. “Stay here for me, okay boy?” she said after coaxing him to sit and putting down her bag. “I’m going to leave some unnecessary stuff here, you want to, too?” she called back to Jericho.

He followed, watching as she pulled out her bedroll, some cooking utensils, and a couple empty water bottles. “Yeah, I guess. Makes it a bit easier to move.” He slid his own bag off his back and pulled out similar supplies. “Think you want a rope to keep the dog put?”

Angharad considered it, tilting her head. “I think he’ll do okay. Can you guard our stuff, boy?”

Dogmeat wagged his tail and gave a little bark in response, moving to lie down with his chin on Angharad’s bedroll.

“Smart dog,” Jericho muttered, sounding perhaps mildly impressed.

Angharad cooed to Dogmeat about how he was such a good boy and scratched his ears. He gave her a light lick on her wrist and wagged his tail more at the praise. After a final pat, Angharad waved to him as she and Jericho started walking away. The few times she looked back, Dogmeat was still where they left him. Soon she stopped worrying.

Despite his talk about splitting up, Jericho hung around Angharad a bit to make sure she could disarm the mines all right. After three, he nodded. “Looks like you got this. We can move around the perimeter of the circle and meet in the middle to clear out any more left in that playground.”

“Sounds g--,” Angharad stopped when she felt a gust of of wind just barely fly past her cheek with an audible _zzzzip_ , followed shortly by the far away _BANG_ of a high-powered rifle.

“Sniper! Get down!” Jericho barked, pulling Angharad away by her arm just before a nearby mine suddenly exploded. They ran for cover behind the wall of cars and pulled out their own guns.

“Did you see where it’s coming from?” Angharad asked, pulling back on the bolt of her hunting rifle to chamber a round.

“No, didn’t have time,” Jericho said, checking over his own assault rifle. “Definitely somewhere in the ruins over there, though.” He nodded towards the houses of Minefield.

The sniper was still firing steadily every couple seconds, striking the mines near their cover, detonating them early. The barrage would only pause briefly so the shooter could reload before it started up again. Plinking sounds of bullets kept resonating through the metal bodies of the cars they were hiding behind and Angharad cautiously dared to poke her head up for a second to check on them, cursing and ducking back down when she saw the bullet holes up near the nuclear fuel cells.

“Jericho!”

“I know!”

“He’s trying to set off the cars!”

“I said _I know_!”

There was another shot accompanied by the disconcerting crackle of the geiger counter in Angharad’s Pip-Boy.

“We have to move!” Now it was Angharad’s turn to grab and pull Jericho out of the way. She pulled him backwards with her to run for a half-collapsed brick wall as another bullet struck the cars they had been behind, then another, and a second later there was a crackling and a _BOOM_ as the microfusion reactor ignited and exploded in a tiny mushroom cloud of heat and dust.

 _“FUCK!”_ Jericho hissed, his spent cigarette finally dropping out of his mouth. “I hate snipers…”

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, don’t worry about me.” He poked his head up over the wall briefly, then ducked back down as another nearby mine exploded.

Angharad looked around. They would need cover to retreat, but there was a huge gap between where they were and the closest partially intact ruins. If the sniper had a clear shot, which he probably did, they’d just be asking to get bullets in their backs. Their only other option was to kill the sniper.

Jericho was eyeing Angharad’s rifle, appearing to be having similar thoughts. “You any good with that? It’s the only long-range gun we’ve got.”

“I think? Would you rather try?”

“Nah,” they both flinched as another car’s reactor caught fire and exploded, “I can’t see that far without a scope. You’ll have to.”

Angharad leaned up for a second to try to look over the wall. “We need to find him first.” She thought for a second. “You still have that SMG?”

“Yeah?”

“You attached to it?”

Jericho removed it from the makeshift holster he had it in and thrust it into her arms. “Take it.”

She checked that the gun was loaded, then peeked back over the wall. The gunshots stopped as the sniper must have decided to conserve his bullets, but was almost certainly still watching for them through his scope. Angharad braced the gun on the wall and blindly fired a couple shots off into the distance, then ducked back down so only the gun was visible. A second later, the SMG was pushed spinning from her loose grasp by a bullet chased by the _BANG_ of the sniper rifle, making Jericho duck to avoid it as it careened towards his head. He swore as he moved to grab the gun to inspect the damage.

“The sniper’s there,” Angharad said, pointing up and to the right, the opposite direction from the one the SMG spun off into.

“Well,” Jericho began, actually sounding somewhat mildly impressed, “that’s one way to do it. This is busted now, though.”

Angharad gave a vague attempt at a shrug. “It might still be useful.” She poked her head around the wall to see if she could spot the likely location of the sniper’s nest, settling on the hollowed-out masonry of a ruined building. “I think I know where he is.”

“Great, can you take the shot?”

“I’ll have to get closer. Will that gun still fire?”

He turned it over a couple times. “Maybe?”

“I need you to be a distraction.”

Jericho’s expression soured. “Of course,” he said flatly.

Angharad frowned. “Just hold the gun up, maybe fire it a couple times, like I did. I don’t want him to realize I’m moving in.”

“Fine.” Jericho still didn’t sound convinced. “You’re gonna owe me a drink.”

“Sure, later. You ready? I’ll move when you fire.”

He nodded and threw the gun up to peek over the wall and fired a few rounds as Angharad moved quickly away, rifle drawn and body crouched low to the ground, scanning the ground ahead of her for mines. The wall of cars wasn’t going to be good cover with the sniper shooting at them, but they would hide her movements as long as Jericho kept the sniper’s attention and she didn’t set off any mines. Thankfully, Jericho seemed to be getting into his role, channeling his frustration into taunting curses she doubted the sniper could hear. She caught sight of something flying through the air, away from Jericho, that exploded surprisingly close to where the sniper was holed up. Holy shit, he had _grenades?_ When was he going to tell her that?

Any irritation or surprise she might have felt at that was short lived. The sniper was sufficiently occupied; all his shots were landing near Jericho. Soon, Angharad was close enough to the dilapidated building to actually see the glint where the sniper rifle poked out from the ruined concrete. A little closer and the actual shape of it came into focus. With no other cover clearly available, Angharad settled in to take the shot. It wasn’t an optimal angle, but she didn’t have much of a choice. Jericho hadn’t fired the SMG in a while, it must have finally given out, and he wasn’t likely to risk ruining his only other working gun. He’d thrown a couple more grenades, but who knew how many of those he actually had? No, it was now or never.

Angharad braced her rifle in between two cars in the pile she was hidden behind, hoping the surrounding metal would hide any shine from her gun as she looked down the sights. Jericho said he’d need a scope to make the shot, and now Angharad was wishing she had one herself. She could see the vague outline of what was probably the body of the sniper, bunched up around the butt of the gun, but she couldn’t tell specifically what she was aiming at. Hopefully, it was his head or chest, not an arm. If she didn’t kill him in one or two shots, he’d know exactly where she was.

“Now or never,” she repeated to herself, aiming just over her target to counter gravity, and fired. Immediately after, she pulled back on the bolt to eject the spent shell and chamber a new round, the _ca-click_ of the mechanism helping to ground her a little. She fired again and immediately ducked down, eyes shut and silently praying she wasn’t about to be caught in a fiery nuclear car explosion.

When her heartbeat slowed enough for her to actually listen to her surroundings, Angharad noted there was nothing but the wind blowing between the buildings. She poked her head up to look through her vantage point at the sniper nest. There was still some vague shape of a body there, but the gun was at an odd angle. After a moment of debate, Angharad crept out from behind her cover, half crawling over rocks and rubble to get to the sniper nest. When she made it to the crumbling building without getting shot, she relaxed somewhat, but remained cautious as she climbed a set of concrete and rebar stairs to the second floor.

Calling it a “floor” was generous at best. Most of the concrete had crumbled, leaving only islands along the outer walls and support columns that had been bridged by rough wooden planks. Off in one corner, under what little remained of the building’s roof, Angharad could see what looked like a bedroll and personal items. Ammo boxes were spread around, near windows or large holes in the walls, likely to give the sniper a variety of angle options. The sniper himself was still where Angharad had left him, looking like nothing more than a vaguely human-shaped pile of ragged cloth that didn’t move at all as she approached. He still didn’t move when Angharad stood over him and pulled the rifle away from him with her foot. Pistol trained on his back, she kicked him lightly to roll him over. The single clean bullet wound to the side of his head surprised her less than his age. The sniper was an old, frail-looking man old enough to be Angharad’s grandfather.

Hadn’t Moira said some people thought Minefield was haunted? Maybe this was the ghost.

She sighed. It would have been easier to feel sorry for him if he hadn’t nearly killed her and Jericho. Speaking of which… Angharad leaned out and waved her arms in the direction of Jericho’s hiding spot. “Clear!” she shouted. “I got him!” When she saw him wave her off and start making his way over, she turned to start poking around.

* * *

 

_Dear Amata,_

_I successfully went on my first long-term trip into the Wasteland! Longer than a day, at least. I managed to hire someone to travel with me and show me how to survive out here. His name’s Jericho and he’s kind of an ass, to be honest, but I kind of like him? He isn’t nice, not by a long shot, but he knows what he’s doing out here. I need that expertise if I’m going to find my dad._

_Also! I found a dog! He’s really nice and cute, if not a bit big. I think you’ll like him. I’m not entirely sold on the name, but he won’t answer to anything else after Jericho started calling him “Dogmeat.” Isn’t that an awful name?_

_I have a house in Megaton now. I’m going to get together a little pack for you and leave it by the Vault door so you can find me. Megaton isn’t far, but it’s easy to go the wrong direction. Even if I’m not home, I’m sure Lucas would let you in or give you a key. I’ll tell him about you._

_I keep dreaming about you. Nothing much, just that you’re lying in bed with me usually. Sometimes, we’re back in the Vault, and sometimes we’re Outside. It isn’t always solid, but sometimes it’s just enough so that I look for you when I wake up, and it hurts all over again when you’re not there. I want to hope that we’ll be able to see each other again soon. Until then, these letters have helped me some, and Moira sold me some film earlier today. I’ll actually be able to take photos of things so I can show you some of what I’ve seen. My camera made it into my bag, but no film, isn’t that funny? Apparently the film is easier to come by out here, so maybe it was for the best. I’ll just need to make myself a dark room._

_I hope you’re safe and that everything is going okay in the Vault. It’s been, what, two weeks now? Your dad has to have calmed down. Not even he can stay_ ~~_homicidally_~~ _angry forever. Right?_

_Love, Anna_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dogmeat is the best boy <3
> 
> Chekhov's gun is a storytelling principle that states "if a gun is on the mantle in the first act, it had better go off by the third." Basically, any detail that's in your story should do something for it. I accidentally did it with the gun and I got excited and had to make the joke.
> 
> It looks like so many people are reading this and I'm so amazed, I thought literally no one cared anymore about this game that wasn't even all that good. Thank you so much! Also, if I don't respond to your comments, I'm really sorry. I'm really bad about doing that, and then when I finally think that I should it's been like, months and I feel weird for waiting so long to respond so I just kinda don't. Feel free to leave critiques as well (but please be constructive?). I'm especially insecure about action scenes, so if anyone has any advice on how to improve, that would be awesome. But I read and love all of them, the feedback is really great and helps keep my motivation up. 
> 
> That being said, sorry about the lack of updates, grad school is busy. But we're starting to sequence the DNA for my thesis project, so yay! :D


	12. No Man Is An Island

James and Jonas had been the only medical personnel in the Vault. In their absence, as her father had phrased it, Andy had been named Vault Medical Officer. Literally anyone armed with one of James’ medical books would have been better. Andy had such astounding ignorance of human anatomy it had to be willful. There was no way a robot that had lived with humans for two hundred years and  _ supposedly  _ possessed a medical subroutine kept trying to poke at (pinch at, more like) irrelevant body parts.

“I told you, it's a  _ headache _ ,” Amata reiterated, pulling back and pushing Andy’s metal pincer away from her Vault suit’s zipper.

“Please allow me to perform my examination, Miss,” the Mr. Handy said flatly. “I need to check your breathing and pulse.”

“I can undress myself, then!” Amata gave a huff and lowered the zipper to her waist. She wouldn't even have come in if Mrs. Palmer hadn't talked her into it. She was worried Amata had a concussion or a brain bleed, and Amata didn't have the energy to explain why neither was likely. She’d been having more headaches since Anna left, sure, but the ones from being tackled to the ground had subsided days ago. These ones were almost certainly from the stress she always seemed to be under now, radiating from the back of her head and into her eyes instead of from where the bruise had been on her forehead. Hopefully, Andy would just give her a cursory examination and some aspirin.

“There we go,” Andy said after Amata pulled her arms out of her jumpsuit’s sleeves and glared at him. He reached for a stethoscope, but the rounded metal twisted out of his pincer. “Hm. Well. I don't have ears to listen to it with, anyway. We'll just move on! Can you show me where your pain is?”

“Here,” Amata said, trying to stamp down her growing horror as she pointed to the back of her head. Andy spun around the gurney to inspect, using his pincer to grab her bun and pull it aside. He took Amata's head with it. “Hey! Watch it!” She reached back to lessen the tugging on her hair. “That hurts!”

“Please bear with me, I'll only be a moment.” One of Andy’s opticals moved closer to her neck and she could hear the aperture flick between narrow and wide as he tried to focus on something. When he finally released her hair, he proclaimed, “I don’t see anything amiss.”

Amata held the back of her head and turned to glare at him. “What did you do?”

The robot gave her what she could only assume was a bemused expression. “I looked at it, obviously.”

Despite not wanting either test done, Amata was unable to restrain her incredulity. “Are your eyes able to do an x-ray? An ultrasound?”

“An x-ray? An ultrasound?” Andy made a sound like a derisive snort. “You haven’t broken a bone and you aren’t pregnant.” He seemed to blink. “Wait, you’re not, are you?”

“No!”

“Are you sure? I could collect a urine sample--”

“Nope!” Amata quickly shoved her arms back into the sleeves of her Vault suit and zipped it up as she hopped off the gurney. “No, no, no, it’s fine. I’m definitely sure.”

“Well… If you say so…” She wasn’t sure if Andy sounded more disbelieving or disappointed.

“Could I just get some aspirin?”

“What for?”

“My head?” The thing she’d come in for?

“Oh! Of course!” Andy puttered over to a cabinet and retrieved a pill bottle. “Here you are!”

“Thank… you?” She wasn’t entirely sure she should be thanking him for… whatever that was. It certainly wasn’t a proper medical examination. Amata left the clinic, rolling the bottle in her hands, thinking that at least this would let her think clearly enough to get through a day of work, when she heard the sounds of an argument down the hall.

“C’mon, man!”

“No way. You just want to try and weasel chems out of Andy.”

“You know that’s not it! Let me through!”

She rounded the corner just in time to see newly-minted Officer Wally Mack flick out his police baton to threaten Butch, giving a sadistic grin when his former friend took a reflexive step back.

“Hey!” Both boys turned when they heard Amata bark at them. It was her best impression of Anna; arms crossed, feet planted, and face firm despite her overwhelming desire to not get involved. “What’s going on?”

“Wally doesn’t think I should be allowed near the clinic,” Butch said, doing his best to glare at Wally while staying out of reach of the baton.

“That’s Officer Mack to you,” Wally spat. “You’re not injured and you don’t look sick.”

“Shouldn’t the Vault Medical Officer be making that decision?” Amata challenged.

Wally turned to glare at her, lip curling in a silent snarl that nearly made her shudder. God, he looked so much like Stevie in that moment; he’d been taking more and more after his older brother since Angharad killed him. It was a mistake to make him a security officer, but the Overseer needed more manpower to enact and enforce his crackdowns. He was all too willing to accept violent applicants, so long as they passed his new “loyalty screening.” Actually, Amata suspected he  _ liked _ the meanness the new security force wielded like a club, but she was still too anxious to voice that thought.

“Watch it, Almodovar,” Wally said. “You’re not above suspicion, either.”

The threat made Amata’s skin crawl, but she tried hard not to falter. Instead, she focused on Butch. “What do you need from the clinic?”

“Just some bandages.”

Before Wally could do anything to stop her, Amata dashed back towards the clinic. Andy shouted a greeting followed by a confused goodbye when Amata just grabbed a roll of bandages off a cart and went right back to Wally and Butch.

“Here,” she said, pressing the roll into Butch’s chest with one hand and grabbing the shoulder of his Vault suit to pull him along with the other. It was strange for him to not be wearing his stupid Tunnel Snakes jacket. Wait… When  _ was _ the last time she’d seen him with it? She could worry about that later, when she wasn’t bracing for Wally’s baton to crack into the back of her head.

“Well that’s one way to do it,” Butch said, craning his neck back to try to look back at Wally, no doubt to see the look on his face. They turned a corner before he thought to push Amata’s hands away. “Hey chill, he’s not coming after us, I don’t think.”

Amata nodded with a heavy exhale. She felt like she was coming down from an adrenaline high and braced herself against the wall with a hand.

“You okay?”

She nodded, leaning her head against the cool metal and closing her eyes briefly. It was just hitting her how  _ bad _ that could have potentially gone. Wally wasn’t quite as mean as Stevie, but would he really need much pushing? The social fissure was shifting, heavily favoring the Overseer and Security’s new campaign to protect the Vault at all costs. Threats of violence against the few outliers were no longer empty. Everyone knew what happened to Jonas, the Holdens, and the few others whose deaths were “accidents.” What would it take to push Security back to that level of violence a second time?

Probably not very much.

Butch was a nervous energy beside her; twitchy and jumpy despite his usual self-assured countenance. Out of the corner of her eye, Amata could see him looking back the way they had come several times. She was hoping he’d just leave so she could calm down and go back to Anna’s room to hide, but he started pulling at her shoulder. “Security’ll give us grief for loitering. C’mon. Let’s get outta here.” When it was clear he wouldn’t leave her alone, Amata relented and walked beside him.

They began in silence, Amata still intending to go to Anna’s room and Butch fiddling with the roll of bandages she’d given him. His air of nervousness still hadn’t dissipated, and that was making her nervous. She almost wanted him to make some crack about her weight or her father, to act like the bully he normally was. He wasn’t a quiet or nervous or reserved person. Whatever this was, it made her uncomfortable if only because she didn’t know how to interpret his behavior.

“So, uh,” Butch finally began, “thanks. For the bandages.”

“It’s no problem.” Gratitude from him was even weirder.

Butch nodded, not making eye contact as he shoved his hands and the bandages into the pockets of his jumpsuit. He still wasn’t leaving.

“Why do you need them?”

“Huh?”

“Why do you need the bandages?” Amata repeated, looking up at him suspiciously. Okay, so maybe she sort of agreed with Wally.

Butch looked even more uncomfortable and glanced around like he was trying to make sure no one else was around to hear his response. “Paul,” he said softly. “He got hurt That Night.” Was that what they were calling it now? “He, uh… He got some nasty bites from radroaches. They still haven’t healed all the way.”

“He should go to the clinic.”

“Doesn’t want to.” Amata could empathize with that. “He says he’s fine, but… Well, he won’t let Freddie or me see them, either, always has his suit and jacket on.” There were only three of the Tunnel Snakes jackets. When Wally left their gang, Butch and Paul gave his to Freddie Gomez. They must have figured he’d hung around them enough before, so he’d be glad for the chance to formally join their stupid gang. They’d been right, too, and Butch’s comment only served to further pique Amata’s curiosity about where his own jacket had gone.

“Is he at least keeping the wounds clean?”

“I don’t know, I don’t think he’s changed the bandages recently.”

Amata frowned. “I hope he gets better soon.”

“Yeah, me too.” Butch ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “I’ll tell him you got these for ‘em.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“No, I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.” He smiled a little. “Probably won’t admit it, though.”

“Whatever you want to do.”

They settled back into another awkward silence as they continued walking. It wasn’t until they were almost at the apartments when Butch finally spoke. “How’re you holding up? Ya know, with Angharad gone?”

Amata gave him a sideways look. “...Why?”

“Just…” Butch looked at his boots, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Well… I’m not sure what I’d do if suddenly Paul was gone. Freddie’s cool, but…”

She furrowed her brow. Why did he care? He hated both her and Anna, or acted like he did.

Butch suddenly forced eye contact, looking at her sternly. “Don’t tell nobody I said that.”

A small smile pricked at the corners of Amata’s mouth. “I won’t.”

Satisfied, Butch gave a firm nod. “Good.” He paused. “But, ya know, if you want to get away from people, you can always chill in the barber shop.” Even though the sign said it was a salon, Butch refused to call it that. Hairdressers work in a salon, and he maintained that he was a barber. Most people weren’t sure of the difference, or didn’t care. “It’s never busy.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause people’s hair doesn’t grow that fast?”

“No, I mean why are you being so nice to me?”

Butch opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. Was he actually thinking before he spoke for once? She must be dreaming.

“Everyone knows what you did for Angharad and what happened with you and your dad,” he eventually began. “And… And I heard about what you said the other day. In the diner. About how maybe James had the right idea.” She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised that made its way into the gossip pool. It still wasn’t pleasant to think about what the others might be saying about her. “Everyone knows we’re all gonna eventually die down here, one way or another, even though they won't admit it. It’s only a matter of time. And like you said, James wouldn’t’ve left if there wasn’t anything to find. If there’s a whole world up there, we’re not gonna get anywhere but dead ignoring it. So, like… I guess my point is you’re not alone, yeah? There’s some of us that agree with you, even if not all of them wanna admit it.”

All Amata could do for a moment was stare at him. That was probably the nicest thing he’d ever said to her. Admittedly, there wasn’t much competition for that spot, but still. And it was nice to hear from someone besides Mrs. Palmer that no, not everyone hated her or blamed her, Anna, and James for ruining their lives. Hearing that other people were thinking about the possibility of opening the Vault, though, that was great news. She’d been thinking more and more about how she would go about meeting up with Anna. With her father’s new draconian rules, it had been feeling hopeless. Maybe, just maybe, if enough people spoke up, he’d change his mind about Outside. She could have Anna back.

“Thanks, Butch,” she said. “I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it. Really.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Butch hasn't stopped being a jerk, he has reasons.
> 
> I do apologize for the long space between updates, school happens and my beta reader has work and other responsibilities and stuff. But! On the plus side, I'm about to start my summer break, so more free time, yay! I'm mostly excited to not have to TA for two months, ngl.
> 
> So, it wasn't super obvious in the last Amata chapter, but I'm trying to keep up a trend where her chapter titles come from songs, literature, classic movies, etc.. She's more literary and internal than Angharad is, so I thought it would be nice. This chapter is a reference to the John Donne poem and the last one was a reference to "A World Alone" by Lorde. I like references...
> 
> P.S.: I finished Final Fantasy XV and ow, my heart, someone hold me...


	13. Melancholy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this only took like two months to write :'D My bad, guys
> 
> Please excuse the abuse of horizontal line breaks. But we hit 50k words yaaaay! :DDD

Apart from the hum of Angharad’s motorcycle and the soft crackle of the bouncing eyebot’s Enclave radio broadcast, Springvale was as silent and still as the first time she came through. The only people who ever travelled here were the caravans on their way to Megaton. Word was spreading that the raiders occupying the ruins of the school had been disposed of, so maybe traffic would pick up somewhat. Even if that did happen, it was unlikely that anyone would get anywhere near the Vault. It was good, probably, that it was so far out of the way. Nothing short of a meteor impact was going to be able to force its way through the door, but Angharad could imagine how the Overseer might respond to attempted invasions by outsiders. Especially after what had happened with her and Dad.

Angharad frowned. She  _ really _ didn’t want to think about that right now. Honestly, she didn’t want to think about much of anything other than what it took to observe her surroundings. If she let herself start thinking about that night, she’d start dwelling on her dad leaving and all the chaos his actions wrought; Jonas, the Holdens, Stevie Mack, leaving Amata… If she started dwelling on everything again, she’d freeze up like she had in the Overseer’s office when she thought Security was coming after her.

_ That’s not “not thinking about it,” idiot. _

This was the first time she’d gone back to the Vault. All her runs out into the Wastes had purposely given Springvale’s ruins and the lonely cliff-face overlooking them a wide berth. She probably had some excellent reasons for that, but figuring out exactly what those were would require too much self-reflection. That never ended well. Still, she couldn’t avoid the place forever. At minimum, she had to leave something for Amata.

She parked the motorcycle at the base of the cliff and looked up, clutching the canvas bag she’d brought. It was roomier than it needed to be, in case Amata wasn’t able to find a bag inside the Vault, and currently only contained a couple bottles of water, some dried food that would keep for a while without attracting animals, and a flimsy little 9mm pistol, just in case. All she needed was for Amata to be able to get to Megaton, and she didn’t want to risk leaving a high quality weapon out in the open. The pistol fired just fine, it would do in a pinch. If they were lucky, Amata wouldn’t need it at all. Out of her own bag, Angharad pulled out a note and a metal sheet with a single word blazed into it. The note went into the bag, near the top. On one side was a letter that maybe Amata would actually read, on the other a map to Megaton she’d drawn to the best of her abilities. Hopefully, it would be enough.

Angharad took a deep breath and started walking up the steep incline to the ancient wooden door that hid the entrance to Vault 101. Despite her promise to Amata, she’d never actually pictured herself returning. She guessed part of her had hoped she wouldn’t have to. She had yet to feel any real nostalgia for the Vault and her days there, just for the people she’d cared about in it. Most of them were either gone or missing now; coming here had nothing to offer but a reminder of that. She had enough reminders every time the sun went down and she crawled onto a moth-eaten mattress to sleep alone.

God damn, she needed to get out of her own head. What was that about “not thinking about it?”

The tunnel was dark and cool with only slips of sunlight through the cracks in the door to illuminate it. It was strange how it had seemed so bright that first time. Angharad approached the Vault door, a bright yellow 101 written across it, and the little control box on a steel pedestal beside it. Her fingers ghosted over the keyboard for a moment before she pulled away. There was no way she’d get in without knowing the password, anyway. Best not to think about it.

Instead, she looked up at the eye of the security camera that monitored the door, trying to remember exactly where it was pointed. She imagined her sign was large enough for Amata to see it no matter where it was, as long as it was in frame, so she set about making a divet in the rocks along the edges of the tunnel walls for the canvas bag, trying to hide most of it except for a strip of fabric at the top. Over that, she settled the metal sheet. Hopefully, Amata would look under the sign for something from Angharad and would find the supplies and map. Hopefully.

Angharad stood back a little to look at the sign. It wasn’t too conspicuous; she’d wracked her brain for days for something only Amata would understand. The Overseer was likely to see it sooner and more often than she was, and Angharad didn’t want to risk him going after Amata if he found out Angharad was signalling to her. No, it had to be something seemingly nonsensical, like something someone had thrown away. Angharad thought she’d managed that. She’d spent several hours in Moira’s shop, borrowing her tools and expertise as she used a soldering iron to carefully melt her letters. Moira, of course, had been all too excited to help and even more so to try and pick out what the sign was for.

“Who’s Darcy?” she asked. “It’s a name, right?”

“It is.”

“Is it someone you knew in your Vault?”

She hadn’t told Moira about Amata. She hadn’t told  _ anyone _ about Amata (besides Dogmeat, but he didn’t count). Talking about her dad was easy, she knew exactly what he meant to her and where his place was in her life. She couldn’t say the same for Amata. She hadn’t known those answers in the Vault and she certainly didn’t know them now. Not really. They were friends and Angharad loved her, but they’d really never settled on what to call themselves. Until then, she was reluctant to tell any of her new friends about her old one. She’d have been lying if she said her underlying fear of rejection didn’t play a part in that. Nevermind her mounting pile of evidence that no one in the Wasteland actually  _ cared _ who you loved (or slept with, in many cases), she couldn’t shake it.

So she wasn’t lying to Moira when she said, “He’s a character in a book,” and left it at that. Not just  _ a _ book, Amata’s  _ favorite _ book, the one she’d more than any other, even considering her love for Victorian romance novels in general and the limited number of books in the Vault. Even if the Overseer knew it was the name of a character, what were the chances he’d know the book or even that it was his daughter’s favorite? More than once, but only in the deep darkness of nighttime in the Vault, Amata had voiced her quiet fears that her father, her only living family, didn’t love her. He never took an interest in her interests or even in  _ her _ . He was more concerned with having a perfect daughter than her being her own person. For all Angharad’s father’s faults, at least that wasn’t one of them.

She tore her eyes from the metal sheet and looked up at the security camera, wondering if the Overseer was there now, watching her on his screen. She wasn’t sure if it was politeness or spite that made her raise a hand and wave before she turned and walked away.

* * *

Jericho was waiting for her when she returned to Megaton. “Where did you go?”

“Out,” Angharad said dismissively, picking up her bag from the back of her motorcycle and starting to shuffle off towards her house. Dogmeat would probably want to go outside and she didn’t really want to explain where she’d been, especially not to Jericho. He’d probably give her grief for being emotional.

That didn’t mean he was satisfied with her answer. He gave a snort and flicked some ash off the end of his cigarette. “Wasteland’s not a good place for a walk.”

Angharad shrugged, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. “Did you need something?”

“Yeah, were you serious about going on that run for Moira?”

“Yes?” He’d been around when Moira asked if she’d go to a nearby Super Duper Mart in the next few days to look for food and medicine. The last part of research for this chapter in her book, she kept saying. “Why?”

“‘Cause I know that place, and I’ll bet we’ll run into either ferals or raiders. Or super mutants, if we’re really unlucky. We should go on a scavv run first, get some money for supplies.”

“Sounds good.” They reached Angharad’s door and she dug in her pocket for her key. Dogmeat was waiting excitedly on the other side of her door and he ran out, tail wagging, to meet her. “When did you want to go?”

“No time like the present.”

“Now?”

“Hey, I was thinkin’ earlier, but you were nowhere to be found,” Jericho retorted. “Maybe not  _ now  _ now, but sooner rather than later would probably be good. Try not to get caught in the dark."

“But plan for it just in case?”

“Never a bad idea.”

“All right,” Angharad sighed, rubbing her face. To be honest, she was tired. She hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep knowing she was planning on going back to the Vault today. “I can be ready in like thirty minutes?”

“Great. I’ll meet you by the gate.”

She gave a half-hearted wave at Jericho's back before turning into her house. It wasn't like she didn't understand where he was coming from, she just really didn't want to do this  _ today _ . Tomorrow she'd be flawless, all bright eyed and bushy-tailed or whatever, but today was bad.

It shouldn't have been a surprise, given how her morning was going, that her thoughts drifted towards her dad as she washed her face and tried to arrange her hair. Some nights, when he thought she was asleep or gone or just not paying attention, she would catch him slumped on the couch with a bottle of scotch and his head in his hands. He wouldn't cry, but he had this despondent expression as he stared at the wall or the floor or his feet, and he wouldn't move. Right now, she felt like how she imagined he did then; tired and her heart scoured empty from too many emotions at once. Had she even felt this way her first night out of the Vault? She didn't think so.

Angharad twisted her hair up into a lazy bun, staring hard at her reflection in the tarnished mirror over the sink. “What happened to not thinking about it?”she huffed, trying to push her bangs out of her eyes. They were still too short to tuck behind her ears, but were longer than she ever let them get in the Vault. She'd been due for a haircut, hadn't she? Dammit… Maybe she'd let them grow out. Or suck it up and try to find someone who knew how to cut hair. Megaton was large enough, there had to be  _ someone. _

Sighing, Angharad turned away from her reflection to go pack her bag for the venture into the ruins. That was enough introspection for one day. She had other, more important, things to focus her attention on.

Jericho was, predictably, smoking when Angharad found him, leaning up against the wall that surrounded the town with a bag by his feet. “‘Bout time,” he grumbled when she and Dogmeat walked up.

“Sorry,” Angharad grumbled half-heartedly.

He waved her off, not appearing to think much of her mood, and led the way into the Wasteland. They went vaguely east, Jericho leading with purpose to an industrial area in what looked to be the crumbling ruins of a formerly busy part of the D.C. suburbs. She wasn't entirely sure, but Angharad thought the Red Racer factory she'd raided a week or two ago was nearby. It had the same look as these buildings; grey cinder block walls and low, slate colored metal roofs. Tamping down on her residual melancholy, she followed Jericho as he considered the buildings.

* * *

“Oh, wow…”

She'd never seen a body of water larger than a puddle and even with the harsh glare of sunlight reflecting off the surface, this was a sight to behold. The air smelled of mud and rot and the water was undrinkably murky, but it stretched out across from her so far that she could only just make out the crumbling remains of a city on the other side. She swung her backpack around so she could dig inside and found her camera to take a picture.

Behind her, Jericho grunted as he climbed the ladder out of the sewer tunnel they’d come through. He squinted through the setting sun to try to see what Angharad was so enthralled with. “What?”

“I’ve never seen so much water…”

The old raider huffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s the Potomac, or what’s left of it. Empties out into the Bay if you keep going far enough. Not really much to see, place is crawling with mirelurks and irradiated as all hell.”

Undeterred, Angharad lowered her camera and pointed off towards the ruins. “Is that D.C.?”

“Yup.” Jericho was already climbing over rocks towards a sheltered area beneath a bridge that still stood above them, stretching out across the river. “We’ll probably camp out over here. I’m not getting closer to those ruins without some bigger guns and better armor.”

She put her camera back into her backpack. “How come?”

“Super mutants. This place is close enough to the Citadel for there to not be too many of the fuckers around. Should be safe. Still want to keep watch, though.”

Dogmeat was hopping up expertly after Jericho and Angharad reluctantly turned her eyes away from the sight to follow them. “Is the Citadel a settlement?”

“Sorta. It’s where those Brotherhood assholes are set up.”

Angharad looked up from carefully watching her feet. Moriarty had said her dad had a Brotherhood friend, but she hadn’t known what he meant. “Who are they?”

Jericho gave an exasperated sigh. “Christ, kid, you’re fuckin’ exhausting, you know that?” he grumbled. She was getting used to his griping, though. He’d fuss and grumble whenever she asked a question he thought the answer to was obvious, but then he’d give her an answer. Sure enough, Jericho continued: “Brotherhood of Steel. Buncha prissy assholes that run around in power armor and carry big fucking guns. They’re into pre-War tech and killing muties. Lots of people around here like ‘em ‘cause they pretty much keep the big green bastards confined to the city. So long as you don’t get in their way or have tech they want, they’re pretty much content to leave people alone.”

Angharad nodded and smiled when Jericho offered a hand to her to help pull her up onto the foundation of the bridge. She ignored his eye rolling and said, “I think my dad might be friends with one of them.”

“Now where did you come up with that?”

She bit her lip before answering. She was still not sure if she wanted to believe what Moriarty said about her being brought to the Vault as a baby, but it made too many little things in her life make too much sense to ignore it outright. “Moriarty said my dad had someone from the Brotherhood with him when he came through Megaton nineteen years ago.”

“Hm.” Jericho fished a cigarette out of his pocket and put it in his mouth, but didn’t light it yet. “That’s hard to believe. Those guys don’t usually like anyone.”

There was already a camp set up under the overpass, complete with two pairs of bunkbeds and some makeshift furniture. Angharad’s hand instinctively went to her pistol before she noticed the layer of dirt covering everything from uniform disuse and pools of dried blood.

Jericho had noticed, too, but he didn’t seem bothered. “Whoever was here before ain’t here now,” he said, digging out his lighter and finally lighting the cigarette in his mouth. “Probably raiders that got high and bothered the Citadel. Fucking morons.” He bent to pick up a used jet inhaler from under one of the beds and flashed it to Angharad before tossing it unceremoniously over his shoulder. “So long as we’re quiet and don’t do anything stupid, we should be good.”

His words weren’t exactly comforting, but they were sensible. As the sun set, they got a fire going in a metal mesh trash can that had the remains of the previous residents’ last fire and settled in. Angharad wrapped herself tightly in her blanket and coaxed Dogmeat into snuggling with her as close to the fire as they could safely get. A biting wind blew in off the river, despite the windbreak effect of the surrounding concrete, and Angharad was freezing. She found herself wishing she’d packed Butch’s stupid jacket.

Jericho looked up from whatever he was cooking and considered her with a scrutiny that made Angharad’s back and shoulders stiffen instinctively. “That armor of yours is just bits of leather on a Vault suit, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Why?”

“We’re gonna need to get you something better,” he said, turning his attention back to the cooking pot. “If you’re insisting on goin’ into the city, you’re gonna need some combat armor, at least. Leather’s fine against ferals and falls and assholes wielding baseball bats, but it won’t stand up to bullets.”

Moira had some better armor in stock sometimes, and Angharad had looked at it, but it was always too expensive. “I can’t afford it.”

“We’ll figure somethin’ out.”

“Your armor is leather.”

“Reinforced,” Jericho paused to knock a fist against his chest. The armor sounded more solid than it looked. “But you’re right. I could do with somethin’ better.”

“You don’t have any already?”

“Nah. Sold it when I retired, just kept this. Figured it wasn’t worth keeping something so heavy-duty around when I probably wasn’t going to be leaving town all that much.”

Angharad just nodded. Dinner was finished and the two of them ate in relative silence. When they finished, Angharad asked, “Where is the Citadel?”

Jericho jerked a thumb over his shoulder, opposite the river and direction they’d come from. “Just over there a bit.” When Angharad scrambled up to go look, he rolled his eyes and flicked some ash off his cigarette. “Watch yourself.”

In the distance, Angharad could see the hulking mass of a huge wall. Like the one surrounding Megaton, this one was decidedly patchwork, but it was well-constructed, almost on par with what pre-War architecture she’d seen. She wondered how she’d managed to miss it. “You said the Brotherhood isn’t particularly hostile?”

“Not unless you give them a reason. Why?”

“I want to get a closer look.”

Jericho gave her a look like she was crazy. “Remember what I said earlier about not doin’ anything stupid? That classifies.”

Angharad could see vaguely humanoid shapes beside the massive gate. “There are people outside of it.”

“Probably sentries who probably also have itchy trigger fingers.”

Angharad frowned, still looking off at the Citadel. “They might know my dad.”

“So?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “You go over there, I’m not dragging your body back.”

She considered her options for a moment. “...I’ll be right back,” she said, standing up and starting to walk over towards the gate. A moment later, Dogmeat got up from his spot by the fire and trotted after her.

The humanoid shapes were indeed sentries; two sentry bots and one man in a bulky set of mechanical armor that Angharad assumed was power armor. The person lifted a massive gun and the robots turned to face her as she approached. She held her hands up to show she wasn't armed.

“What do you need, civilian?” the man barked.

“Just to talk,” Angharad said, lowering her hands when he didn’t threaten her. “This is the Citadel?”

“Affirmative. Headquarters of the Brotherhood of Steel, Capital Wasteland detachment,” the soldier said stiffly. He wasn’t threatening her, but he was still eyeing her with suspicion.

“Can you tell me anything about the Brotherhood, Mr…?”

“ _ Paladin _ Bael,” he said, unamused. “And I can see you’re trying to appeal to my good nature. Unfortunately for you, I don’t have one. But, I can tell you that we use our big guns to kill big super mutants so people like you can sleep at night. You’re welcome.”

He certainly wasn’t the most personable, but Angharad pressed on. “Paladin Bael. You wouldn’t happen to know a doctor named James Lewis, would you?”

Bael raised his eyebrow at her. “...Why?”

“He’s my father. Someone told me he might have a friend who’s in the Brotherhood, and I wanted to see if I could find them.”

“Can’t say I do.”

“Would I be able to go in and ask around?”

He eyed her Vault suit. “Negative. No civilians, super mutants, or Vault dwellers allowed inside.” Bael shifted, adjusting the weight of his gun conspicuously. “Now why don’t you and your dog go back to wherever you came from? I’d rather not deal with you attracting muties close enough to where I’d have to save you.”

_ Charming…  _ Angharad thought. She exchanged a look with Dogmeat and shrugged before turning around to return to Jericho.

* * *

 

They were almost back to Megaton when Jericho pointed out a splash of white paint on a dilapidated brick wall. “Take a look at this.”

Angharad did, but the shape didn’t mean much to her. It looked like some kind of bird claw that had been applied to the wall using spray paint and a stencil. “What is it?”

Jericho rolled his eyes, but told her anyway. “It’s the logo for Talon Company. They’re a group of mercs almost as well-equipped as the Brotherhood, and also happen to be supremely insufferable assholes. This means they probably have a camp around here.”

“Okay…? And?”

_ “And _ they’re dangerous. It’s bad news to see them so close to Megaton. We should deal with them. Can probably also get you some better armor out of it, too. You bring that sniper rifle?”

Angharad nodded.

“Fantastic.”

There was, indeed, a Talon Company camp nearby. They were set up in an old building with one door and one sentry in black combat armor patrolling said door. Shapes that looked very much like dead bodies littered the ground under the metal catwalk that led up to it. Angharad and Jericho set up across the ruined street on the roof of a boarded-up shop, and Jericho watched the sentry as Angharad assembled her rifle.

“How many do you think are inside?” Angharad asked, keeping her voice low.

“Hard tellin’, but they usually go out in smaller groups. No more than four, five with the sentry.”

“This doesn’t reload fast enough,” she noted. “They’ll start shooting at me before I can get all of them.”

She heard the  _ ca-click _ of Jericho loading his assault rifle behind her. “I’ll go down and draw their fire, then. Maybe even take some of them out. Aim for headshots, we want that armor.”

“I know.” Angharad settled down in her vantage point and looked down the scope. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Count to sixty. I should be in position by then.”

She heard the crunch of Jericho’s boots behind her and began counting. It would have been nice to know where Jericho was going to be. Still, she tried to give him as much time as possible, counting slowly and waiting until she hit one hundred before she started lining up her shot. The sentry paused to light a cigarette and she fired.

_ BANG! _

Her ears rang from the shot and she wasn’t looking forward to firing it off again any time soon, but the sentry went down immediately. A few seconds later, the door to the base opened and three more Talon mercenaries ran out, armed with assault rifles and looking around wildly for the source of the shot.

“Baker’s down,” one barked.

“Fucking fantastic…”

Angharad took a breath and exhaled slowly to steady her hands for the second shot when Jericho fired his own gun, appearing from behind some crates below Angharad. His shots went wide and the mercenaries ducked.

“Fucking shit!”

They turned their rifles on Jericho, only for one to drop when Angharad fired a second time. It was enough for them to figure out her location, and she swore as she ducked back from the edge of the building as the remaining two raised their rifles to shoot at her. Dust floated up as the bullets embedded themselves into the masonry. Jericho must have fired back because one of them shouted, “I’m hit!”

Angharad moved to a different part of the roof and looked back down her scope. One mercenary was favoring his right arm and the other had his gun up to return fire at Jericho. Angharad fired, he dropped, and the remaining enemy barely got out, “Fucking he--” before Jericho’s bullet hit him in the head.

“Nice!” Jericho called out from below.

“Think there’s more inside?” Angharad called back, trying to focus on any sound that wasn’t tinnitus. She was going to need some ear protection if she planned on using this gun with any frequency.

“Not sure. I’ll do a sweep, be right back. Keep that gun on the door!” He appeared in her line of sight before adding, “Just make sure it’s not me before you shoot!”

“Darn,” she chuckled to herself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a very introspective person, so it's weird for me to write a character like Angharad who is very much not. I think that's probably why I've noticed I have more fun writing the Amata chapters? Maybe?
> 
> I'm trying to actually be a bit more social on Tumblr, so [feel free to drop me a line](https://donotfeedthewildauthor.tumblr.com/) :D


	14. Expressions of Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY  
> I am very easily distracted and this chapter was a bear to write, but I did it, it's done, and I can move onto the stuff I've been wanting to write for this yaaaay
> 
> Thank you to anyone who's still interested in reading this. It means a lot. I know this is a vanity project but it's nice to know that I'm not just shouting into the void lol.

The Super-Duper Mart was indeed filled with raiders. And a robot, but that was more of a solution than a problem. It made the whole endeavor go almost smoothly. Jericho found something funny in how the raiders’ bullets just pinged uselessly off the protectron’s chassis. Angharad just did her best to ignore him, focusing instead on the task at hand. Later,  he griped that they could have just gone home they way they came, that  _ of course _ Angharad just  _ had _ to arbitrarily decide to scout out a different route. They could have had an early day and he could have spent his evening drinking in the saloon while she visited with Gob and Nova or with Moira, but no. They just had to “make a fucking  _ detour.” _

It was Dogmeat who stopped first, ears perked up like he was listening hard to something. Strangely, he didn’t budge when Angharad called him.

“What the fuck is that dog doing?” Jericho groaned, several paces ahead. “Just keep walkin’. He’ll follow eventually.”

Angharad followed her dog’s line of sight to try and figure out what he was looking at. “I think--”

Dogmeat’s ears swiveled forward then flattened back against his head as he suddenly bolted off, snarling and barking as viciously as he could manage.

“Dogmeat, no!” she called after him, even as she swung her hunting rifle off her back and into her hands. “Get back here!” She could hear Jericho running up behind her, pulling back the bolt on his own rifle. “Something’s wrong.”

“No shit,” he grunted as he jogged past her and Angharad had to shake herself before she processed that she needed to catch up.

They could hear Dogmeat barking up ahead, but they weren’t really running until they heard someone screaming. Smoke was rising on the horizon and Angharad could smell something burning. Just ahead, they could make out the tip of Dogmeat’s tail as he turned a corner. Jericho took the turn too hard and allowed his armor’s shoulder plate to take the brunt of the impact so he could keep moving. Angharad’s boots skidded on the concrete, slowing her down, but at least she managed to keep her balance. She heard Jericho’s shout as he encountered whatever it was that Dogmeat was after and open fire. Smoke was choking the air, Angharad was coughing, Dogmeat was barking, and under it all someone screamed again.

It sounded like a kid.

Angharad was familiar with the Wasteland’s giant insects. She’d grown up dealing with radroaches in the Vault and had encountered more since she left, so it wasn’t particularly shocking to see a pack of giant ants bearing down on the boy curled up defensively on the pavement and screaming. But then one started clicking its mandibles as something came seeping out in a cloud in front of it and suddenly the thing was  _ breathing fire. _ The flames spewed out in front of it towards the boy while the other insects turned towards Dogmeat, Jericho, and Angharad. Jericho slammed a new clip into his rifle and resumed firing, killing one and and making the others stop advancing for a second while Angharad got in position to start shooting, too. Dogmeat rushed forward, narrowly avoiding getting singed, and bit down hard on the legs of the one advancing on the boy. He didn’t let go until Angharad’s bullet killed it, then rushed to the boy’s side to stand guard. Angharad chambered another shot quickly and aimed for the head of another, but her shot went high and severed one of the thing’s antenna. Its whole body twitched discordantly and it stopped advancing until its single remaining ally bumped into it. The injured one turned to attack the other, locking their mandibles together so that one well-placed shot killed both.

A brief moment of quiet followed, only to be broken by Jericho going, “What the actual  _ fuck _ was that?!”

The boy whimpered as he shifted to sit, but he gasped in pain and stopped when he tried to push himself up with his hands. Dogmeat was already sniffing at him, ears and tail down non-threateningly, when Angharad tentatively approached.

“Are you hurt?”

The boy flinched hard and started trying to sit up again. Angharad knelt by him and gently took hold of his upper arms saying, “Let me help.”

“Don’t touch me!” The boy pushed her away, but not before she managed him into a sitting position. He had sandy-colored hair and his face and ratty overalls were covered in dirt, soot, and what appeared to be blood. When he shoved Angharad back, his hands were tacky with blood and she realized that he must have scraped his hands when he fell. He huddled as far away from her as he could without actually getting up, his eyes wide with pain and panic.

“Okay! It’s okay! You’re safe, the ants are dead, it’s okay.” She held her hands out in front of her. “My name is Angharad, what’s yours?”

“...Bryan.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Bryan.” She gave him a smile, trying to seem less anxious than she was. “Your hands look like they hurt, can I look at them?”

“N-no!” Bryan shook his head and started trying to scramble to his feet, stopping when he remembered his hands. “We have to run, I have to get out of here before those...those  _ things _ come back! They, they’re gonna get me, too! Like they got everybody else!”

“We killed ‘em, kid,” Jericho said.

“No! There’s more! They just keep coming and everyone else is dead and my poppa is gone and I’m gonna be next, I gotta keep moving!” Bryan started crying in little silent sobs, but no tears came. “I can’t… I gotta…”

“Hey, hey, shh.” Angharad reached out to rub his back, and this time he allowed the contact with only a slight flinch. “It’s okay, we’ll protect you. It’s going to be okay. Look at me? Yeah?” She nodded while Bryan just stared at her, but he eventually started nodding too. “That’s it. Just take deep breaths, it’ll be okay. See? Watch me. In,” she gave a dramatic inhale then a matching exhale, “and out. Can you do that with me? In...and out. In...and out. There you go! Good job!”

When he started to mimic Angharad’s breathing, she gave him a smile. “Good job, bud. Are you hurt?”

Bryan sniffled and nodded. Now that he was done panicking, Angharad looked him over. His palms were scraped to hell and he had first and second degree burns on his arms under a thin layer of soot. There were probably other injuries she couldn’t see, too.

“Will you let me fix you up a bit? I promise I’ll be careful.”

“Okay…”

“Anna,” Jericho was still standing at attention, holding his rifle with intent, and only continued when Angharad looked at him, “not here. We’re too exposed. Kid, there anyplace near here we can set up at?”

“Th-there’s an old diner just over there,” Bryan pointed off in the direction he’d been trying to run.

“Sounds good enough.”

“Can you walk?” Angharad asked Bryan.

“I think so… Can you help me up?”

He only wobbled a little when she set him on his feet, mostly from not having stood up on his own power. Dogmeat nuzzled into Bryan’s side, making him smile, and off they went, Dogmeat and Bryan in the middle with Jericho and Angharad flanking them on either side, rifles at the ready. They reached the diner without incident, and Angharad did a brief sweep inside before sitting down with Bryan at a booth, leaving Jericho to guard the door.

“Have you ever had a stimpak?” Angharad asked, digging in her bag for some purified water to clean Bryan’s wounds first.

Bryan shook his head, tearing his eyes away from the breastplate where the Talon logo was heavily obscured on her armor. “No, miss.”

“Just call me ‘Anna,’ okay?” She dampened an extra shirt with the water and took one of Bryan’s hands. “This’ll sting a bit, but it’s just water. I need to clean these first, okay?”

“Okay…”

Angharad gently touched the damp cloth to Bryan’s palm, making him hiss and yank his hand back. “I’m sorry, I know it hurts,” she murmured. “Here, talk to me. You mentioned your dad, do you live here with him?” He nodded. “Anyone else?”

“There’re the Brandices, Will and his momma and poppa, and Doc Lesko.”

“Are you and Will good friends?”

“Sorta, I guess. He’s a little older than me, but he’s shared his comics with me. And we’ve played together a lot. Or...we used to.”

“Used to?” Angharad picked up Bryan’s other hand.

“They’re… I think they’re all dead. I can’t find them or my poppa, but the ants are everywhere and everything is on fire, I don’t...” He sounded like he wanted to start crying again, but he managed to breathe through it. He avoided looking at her as he continued speaking. “Those… My poppa calls them ‘fuckin’ ants.’” The swear caught Angharad off guard and she paused, blinking. “They didn’t used to breathe fire, and they’ve been getting meaner and meaner. I haven’t seen the Doc in days, then Mr. Brandice went missing, and I haven’t seen Mrs. Brandice or Will or my poppa since earlier. I-I’ve been hiding, but I came out to try to find my poppa and that’s when they started chasing me.” He gasped as Angharad started cleaning the burns on one of his arms.

“I’m sor--”

“You can look for them!” Bryan cut her off, suddenly excited and fidgety. “Y-you guys killed those ants back there, you can go back and look for everyone! Please, you have to look for my poppa!”

“Okay, okay, calm down.” Angharad put her hands on his shoulders to keep him from popcorning up off the bench. “Of course we can look for them. Just let me finish fixing you up first, okay?”

“You will?!”

“We will.” Angharad cleaned Bryan’s other arm so she could give him the stimpak. “You’ll have to hide while we’re gone, though, okay?”

“Alone?” he asked, eyes wide again.

“I can leave Dogmeat with you if that would make you feel safer.” The dog’s ears perked up at the mention of his name. “He’s a very good boy, he won’t leave you by yourself.”

Bryan scrubbed at his eyes with the back of a hand. “Okay. Thank you.”

* * *

Dogmeat announced their return as Angharad and Jericho trudged, tired and held together with bandages and a stimpak each, back up the sloped road to the diner. Bryan’s face appeared in one of the shattered windowpanes and his expression lit up when he saw them.

“Miss Anna! Did you see it?!” he said, running out to them, Dogmeat at his side. “It was so weird! All of a sudden all the ants went nuts and started fighting each other!” Angharad made a soft “oof” sound as he barreled into her, wrapping his arms tightly around her middle. “It was so cool! Did you see it?!”

“Yeah, kid, we saw it,” Jericho said.

“Are you okay?” Angharad petted Bryan’s hair gently, still unsure how she was going to tell him what they found.

“Mmhmm.” Bryan looked up at her. “Did you look for my poppa?”

“Yeah…”

“Did you find him?!”

Angharad swallowed and glanced back at Jericho. “We… we did…”

Bryan’s expression fell at her tone. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” When she didn’t respond right away, he looked down. Angharad thought he might be about to cry again, but he just said softly, “I guess… I guess I already knew. Thank you for looking.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“Did you find anyone else?”

“Doctor Lesko.” They found Mr. Brandice, too, but Lesko was the only one still alive. “In his lab. He helped us kill the ants.”

“He’s alive?”

Angharad nodded as Jericho snorted behind her and grumbled, “Unfortunately…” When she shot him a dirty look, he just glared back.

Bryan looked between them, confused, but when neither elaborated, he pulled back from hugging Angharad. “Well, thanks for your help. I guess… You probably want to get out of here,” he kept his eyes on his feet as he spoke, “and I need to bury my poppa.”

Again, Jericho and Angharad exchanged a look.

“Kid,” Jericho sighed, “why are you actin’ like we’re just gonna leave you?” In spite of the subject matter, Angharad smiled a little at his resignation. They’d already discussed this.

Bryan blinked and looked up. “What?”

“We’re not going to leave you here alone,” Angharad said gently. “I live in Megaton, it’s not far from here. You can stay with me for a while.”   


“Really?!”

She nodded. “I might have to leave a lot, but there are people there who will keep an eye on you. Is that okay?”

“What about my poppa? I can’t just leave him…”

“We can help you bury him.” Angharad looked over her shoulder at Jericho, who took the cue and sighed.

“Yeah, kid. We’ll help.”

Bryan hugged Angharad tightly again. “Thank you.”

They turned to start walking back to the house Bryan had shared with his father, where Angharad and Jericho had found and left his body. Angharad grabbed Jericho by the arm to stop him and let Bryan and Dogmeat walk a little ahead.

“Lay off Lesko around the kid,” she hissed.

“You shoulda just let me shoot him.”

“We destroyed the mutagen, he can’t do anymore harm.”

“My ass he can’t! Sciencey assholes like him are why the world’s a shitshow!”

Angharad frowned, wanting to contest, but suspecting he wouldn’t listen anyway. Maybe some scientists were like that, but the ones in the Vault weren’t. Her mother wasn’t.

Without the ants adding to them, the fires inside Bryan’s house had died down. There was no longer smoke streaming out from the open doorway, but the boy still hesitated before going inside.

“Miss Anna?” He turned to look back at her, his fingers wrapped tightly around Dogmeat’s collar for what she assumed was emotional support. “Is… Does he still look like my poppa? The… Did the ants get at him?”

She looked around him and inside the darkened house. To be honest, she wasn’t sure. It had been a couple hours since she and Jericho had found Mr. Wilks. There was plenty of time for the ants to do some damage. “We can check and see, if you want?” she offered.

Bryan looked relieved and nodded, stepping away from the door to let Angharad and Jericho inside. “Thank you.”

The inside of the house was in moderately worse condition than when they left; the fires had spread more and blackened the entire downstairs. Bryan’s father was still lying face-down on the living room floor where Jericho and Angharad left him and looked concerningly charred.

“Oh no…”

“Hold on, don’t panic just yet.” Jericho put a hand on her shoulder as he walked past her to flip him over, and Angharad breathed a huge sigh of relief when she saw that the fire hadn’t made its way to his front. His face was covered in soot and had the remains of some injuries, but he was still recognizable.

“Fire takes a while to get under a body,” Jericho said simply.

“I see…” She took a breath and asked, “What’s the right way to do this?”

“T’ do what?”

“Bury him. I don’t… We had our own way of handling death in the Vault.”

“And how’s that?

“Everyone gets cremated. In the incinerator,” she began. “Their immediate family would wash and remove anything important from the body, or my dad would do it. Since he was the doctor. Sometimes their family would arrange a quick wake, so other people could have a chance to say goodbye, but it wasn’t uncommon to just skip that and send them immediately to the incinerator. Only a couple people could be in the room and they’d shut the door and hit a button...and that was it.” Most of the time, the Vault only knew someone died because they announced their cremation on the intercom.

Jericho stared hard at her for a second, like he was waiting for her to say there was a joke or exaggeration in there or maybe that she left a detail out. “That’s… Yeah, that’s different,” he mumbled. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, took a drag, and sighed. “There isn’t really a formal way for it. Most people don’t bother with burials much anymore, but there’s still a bit a’ tradition. Help me get ‘im up on the table an’ you take the kid to get some water. It doesn’t have to be clean.”

When Angharad and Bryan returned with a bucket of water between them, Jericho had found a dingy old sheet from somewhere and draped it across Mr. Wilks’ body. Bryan froze when he saw him, but Jericho beckoned him forward.

“He looks fine, kid. C’mon if you wanna see ‘im.”

Bryan gave up the pretense of helping Angharad carry the water and cautiously shuffled over to his father, sighing audibly when he saw that Jericho was right.

“Do you know what his first name was?” Angharad asked gently.

“Fred. My momma used to call him ‘Freddy,’ or ‘Frederick’ when she was mad,” he said. “...She died when I was little. I barely remember her…”

Jericho wet some rags in the water bucket and handed one to Angharad and held the second out to Bryan. “We’re gonna get your old man cleaned up a bit. You wanna help?” When Bryan nodded a little and took the cloth, Jericho actually smiled faintly. “Atta boy.”

* * *

_ Dear Amata, _

~~_ I went to my first actual funeral today. _ ~~

~~_ Did you know the Wasteland has giant ants? _ ~~

~~_ I helped a little boy bury his dad today. _ ~~

~~_ I seem to have acquired a kid _ ~~

~~_ What if I never find my dad? What if I do and he’s dead? _ ~~

_ I rescued a kid yesterday.  _ ~~_ His dad died so _ ~~ _ He’s going to be staying with me for a while. Bryan’s been through a lot in the past few days and I’m not sure what I can do to help, but Dogmeat seems to cheer him up some. _

_ Do you remember the time we broke into the Vault server room when we were kids? I think that was the first time I actually managed to pick a lock. I don’t even know what we were trying to get in there for, but we were lucky no one caught us, especially after we tried to guess the password to one of the terminals and locked it. Maintenance was worried that they’d have to do a hard reset to fix it, and if they did that it might take some of the Vault’s vital functions offline until it restarted. Your dad was livid. Didn’t he swear he’d find and personally punish whoever was responsible? Or something like that? _

_ I’m sorry. I’m not very good at addressing feelings. Jericho and I rescued Bryan, but his dad was already dead by the time we got to him. We did what we could and buried him near a playground. A little morbid, but it was more pleasant than putting him behind an old diner. Bryan didn’t start crying until we finished and I just. I didn’t know what to do. There wasn’t anything I could do to fix it because what could anyone possibly say to an eight year old who’s just lost his only family? There’s nothing that could make that better. You or Dad would have had something. All I could think of was some dumb poem from some book. _

_ I miss you. I hope you’re safe. _

_ \--Anna _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lesko is annoying and, as someone studying molecular genetics, uniquely irritating. ("I'm gonna inject you with a mutagen and you'll get something super duper specific lol" yeah, that's not how genetics work, buddy. My suspension of disbelief has its limits)
> 
> On the off-chance anyone is interested, [I have a tumblr.](https://donotfeedthewildauthor.tumblr.com/) Feel free to hit me up, I'm slowly improving my ability to be friendly on the internet and not just terrified of everyone :'D


	15. A Truth Universally Acknowledged

Amata couldn’t avoid talking to her father forever. Every time someone had to deliver a report to him, she'd manage to persuade one of the other supervisors to do it. It was a temporary fix, she knew that. One day everyone would finally tell her that they’d covered for her once or twice already and no, they weren’t doing it again, or that she’d been mad at her father long enough, shouldn’t she forgive him already? She knew it was coming, really, and that it would be sooner rather than later. She’d been steeling herself for it.

She just wished it wasn’t for  _ this. _

Holotape in hand, Amata approached the Security officers guarding the entrance to the administrative wing of the Vault. She kept her eyes down, muttering something generic about having to give Overseer Almodovar a report, and they let her through without a fuss. (They still saw her as  _ his _ daughter, she knew, and she hated it because that was still all she was to most of the Vault.) The second pair of guards let her through after nothing more than a nod from the ones at the door, and then she was back in the space she’d been avoiding for weeks. It was strange, thinking about how she used to live here.

“Yes, come in!” the Overseer called when Amata knocked on his office door. The back of his chair was facing her when she walked in and his hard expression immediately shifted when he turned and saw her standing in front of his desk. “Amata--”

“I have a report, Mr. Almodovar,” she said stiffly, before he could get the wrong idea about why she was there. This was not a social visit and she was so far from forgiving him for anything, especially today.

“A report…? Oh, yes. What is it?” He held his hand out for her holotape and popped it into the disk slot of his terminal.

She kept her gaze firmly on a spot on his desk, where she knew it opened up to the escape tunnel. “Paul Hannon, Jr., died this morning.”

“Ah. I see…”

“Last night after dinner, he collapsed in his father’s apartment. Officer Hannon issued a health emergency and rushed his son to the clinic.” Amata kept her expression as neutral as she could, even as she wanted to scream about how so many of the deaths recently would have been completely avoidable if he hadn’t let Stevie Mack beat Jonas to death. “Andy examined Paul and found a badly infected wound on his right forearm. Tests confirmed that the infection had spread and developed into sepsis. Andy’s recommendation was to amputate--” without anesthesia, she might add, damn that robot, “--but Officer Hannon declined.” Rightly refused, more like. All it would have accomplished would have been torturing Paul. “Paul’s fever spiked in the middle of the night despite treatment with antibiotics and fluids. His condition deteriorated into multiple organ failure. Despite attempts at intervention, Andy declared him dead at 8:35 this morning.”

When her father didn’t respond, Amata looked up a little. He wasn’t looking at the report on his screen, but at her.

“We haven’t spoken in weeks,” he said, completely ignoring anything she said and why she was even there. “How… How are you?”

“I’m well, sir, thank you.” She wasn’t going to break her formality just because he was acting like a father. He wasn’t supposed to only do that when he was trying to get her to forgive him. That wasn’t how parents were supposed to work.

Obviously, he wasn’t going to take the hint because he frowned and said, “Are you still mad at me about--”

“Do you need anything else, Overseer?” she snapped, finally looking up to make eye contact.

But something on one of the screens on the wall behind him displaying security feeds caught her attention instead.

_ DARCY. _

Quickly, Amata forced herself to look back at her father. She willed her face to stay hard and not betray what she’d just seen.

Anna was  _ alive. _

She hadn’t known how unsure she’d been until she saw the sign Anna must have left for her. That was the only person who could have left something that specific to her right outside the Vault, Amata was sure of it. She’d always loved  _ Pride and Prejudice _ , and Darcy… Well, with a name like that it was easy to pretend he was a she.

Amata’s father didn’t seem to notice his daughter’s change in mood. He almost looked defeated, if such a thing were even possible with him. “No, I suppose there’s not…” he sighed.

“Thank you.”

But when she turned to go, he called, “Wait.” She turned back to face him, but took a step back when he started getting up from his chair. 

“Amata, stop this foolishness,” he began. Oh, now wasn’t he off to a great start? “What I did, I did for the good of the Vault, you  _ must _ understand that. I’ve… I’ve always hoped you’d be Overseer after me someday.” Amata wanted to recoil. She’d known that on some level, but right now the absolute last thing she wanted to think about was the possibility of becoming just like her father. “I’m sorry if what I did hurt you, but you need to understand--”

“You let Stevie beat me,” she cut him off, unwilling to hear anything else he had to say, “because I wouldn’t let you sic him on Angharad after I _told you_ she didn’t know anything! You’ve _never_ listened to anything I say, _ever,_ even though I’m your daughter! All you’ve ever wanted was for me to be your perfect little… little _doll!_ I’ve never even been a person to you!” Her voice shook at first, but became stronger as she went on until she realized she was beginning to shout. By then, she couldn’t stop it or even bring herself to care that Security was probably half a second from storming in and removing her. The emotions had been building too long. “It’s your fault she’s gone, just like it’s your fault that Paul and Jonas and everyone else is dead!” How long had she wanted to scream at him like this? “So don’t you _dare_ stand there and tell me that you did what you had to ‘for the good of the Vault.’ The only good you’ve ever done was for yourself!”

“Amata! That’s enough!” her father shouted.

“No, it’s not!” she called back. “Because no matter how upset I am, or what I say, you’re never going to even consider that you’ve done something wrong!”

“ENOUGH!” He grabbed her roughly by the wrists and only held tighter when she struggled.

“LET ME GO!”

“I AM YOUR FATHER AND OVERSEER AND YOU WILL GIVE ME THE RESPECT I DESERVE OR--!”

“Or  _ what? _ You’ll kill me too?!” She managed to twist out of his grasp as he stared at her, stunned by the hate and anger that was written all over her face. Amata pulled back, rubbing her wrists and glaring openly at him.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” she said lowly, forcing herself to calm down even as her hands shook. She could hear movement behind her at the office door and her father held up a hand as if to tell Security to hold. “I came here to do my job and give the Overseer a report. Now that I’ve finished, may I please leave?” She forced herself to meet his eye and added,  _ “Sir.” _

Her father was starting to shake, too, and his face was red like he was only just maintaining enough composure to keep from completely exploding at her or from screaming for Security to place her under arrest. “Fine,” he said, voice terse as he turned to stalk back to his desk. “Fine. Leave. You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you, sir.” Amata turned on her heel and managed not to flinch or shy away from the three Security officers wielding batons that stood between her and the door. Instead, she stepped up to them and glared up at the one in the middle, Officer Taylor. “Excuse me.”

When the officers didn’t budge, only looked back at the Overseer behind her for confirmation, Amata heard her father say, “Let her leave.” Only then did they part far enough to let her pass, but not enough to let her through without a shoulder-check.

“You’d better watch yourself,” Officer Wolfe growled, low enough that only she could hear him.

She didn’t respond, just left the administrative wing as fast as she could without running.

The moment she was around the corner and out of sight, Amata doubled over, trembling and fighting a rising urge to vomit. She’d just  _ yelled _ at her father. Oh god, what was she thinking?! She’d never raised her voice to him before. Even before everything that had happened, that would have been a stupid idea. How had he not hit her?! Or had her arrested? Literally any other resident would have been beaten black and blue for something like that, how had she managed to just walk out?

_ Because he’s still your father, like it or not, _ she thought distantly.  _ But how long will that special treatment last? _

She couldn’t risk letting herself do something like that again. It would be better for her to just keep her head down and stay quiet. There was no guarantee that opposing him further would get her anywhere good.

But Anna…

She needed to calm down and get out of her head. Maybe she could talk to Mrs. Palmer or just go back to her room and scream into her pillow. But she was still wired and agitated. It made her almost afraid of what she’d do if she stopped moving completely. It wasn’t likely to be anything good, so she just kept walking around aimlessly through the domestic wing until she came to the hair salon.

Did anyone check in with Butch at all? He had to know about Paul. The Vault wasn’t that big, especially not anymore. It’d been...maybe a week since she’d gotten him bandages for Paul? That day he spoke about not knowing what he’d do if he suddenly lost Paul like Amata had lost Anna, but at least she knew Anna was alive now. Even if Butch didn’t feel the same way about Paul as she did about Anna,  they were still friends. Officer Hannon didn’t like Butch, either. Everyone knew he hated that his son, his only family after his wife died during the chaos of Anna’s escape, was in league with the Vault delinquent. Did he even let Butch say goodbye?

Amata swallowed and poked her head into the open door of the salon. No one was inside except for Butch, sitting in the barber’s chair furthest from the door with his head in his hands. He didn’t move at all until Amata lightly knocked her knuckles against the door frame, at which point he jerked to sit up as tall and imposing as he could to make up for his red-rimmed eyes. For the first time in weeks, he was wearing his Tunnel Snakes jacket.

“Whaddya want?” His voice sounded raw and cracked, like he’d been crying, but his cheeks were dry.

“I just…” Amata shifted her feet, unsure of what to say. The two of them weren’t friends, not really, and Butch would just reject any compassion she showed him as pity.

Butch narrowed his eyes at her and scowled. “If you ain’t got a reason for bein’ here, buzz the fuck off. I’m not in the mood.”

No, she imagined not. “Would… I was just thinking it had been a while since I last got a haircut.” She had time to kill, and even if she didn’t, screw it. She was in no mood to go back to work, and it wasn’t like the paperwork wouldn’t be there waiting for her tomorrow.

When Butch stared at her, she quickly added, “If you’re up to--I mean, if you’re not busy.”

It took him a second to respond, but when he did, it was by scoffing and getting up from his chair. “C’mon, then. Take your hair down.”

She pulled out the tie from the twisted, messy bun she kept her hair in and scratched her fingers through it to tease it out a little. Butch was standing by the chair, holding the cape and looking deliberately bored as she sat down.

“Trim?” he asked, moving her hair out of the way as he clipped the fabric around her neck.

“Yeah.” She used the mirror to look at him. “If that’s okay.”

“‘Course it is,” he mumbled. He ran a comb through her hair a couple times before he reached for the spray bottle of water to wet it a bit.

Amata watched him as he worked her hair flat, trying to think of what she wanted to say and how she wanted to bring it up. Butch was never a particularly big fan of tact or subtlety, so she couldn’t imagine him being too upset at her being direct.

“Why’re you so tense?” he asked suddenly.

She blinked. “I’m not…?”

“Tch,” he scoffed. “Your shoulders are practically up to your ears. Relax. What’s eatin’ you?”

“I…” Actually talking to Butch, especially about feelings or her dad or the colossal disaster that was Amata’s relationship with him felt...wrong. Normally, she’d talk to Anna about anything like that, and only Anna.

But she wasn’t there anymore, was she?

“...I had a fight with my dad,” Amata mumbled. “I had to give him a report and he completely ignored it and just insisted that I was being ridiculous for not forgiving him.”

She wasn’t quite sure what to call the new expression on Butch’s face as he said, “Oh…”

“Yeah…”

Neither of them were particularly what to say after that, and they stayed silent until Butch picked up his scissors.

“I don’t think you are, though. Bein’ ridiculous, I mean,” he said quietly. “He’s got a lot to answer for.”

“He really does… Everyone seems to think that I need to hurry up and forgive him because he’s my dad, and I get where they’re coming from, but…”

“Don’t then,” Butch quipped. “Fuck them for tellin’ you to stop being angry.”

Amata blinked.

“Fuck, I’d still be angry if I were you… I’d be fuckin’ pissed.” He had a hard set to his jaw that made Amata anxiously scrunch down in her chair a little.

“Hey, could you not do that?”

“Sorry.” She sat up straight again.

“‘S fine…” Butch grabbed a clip and used it to pin up the upper layer of Amata’s hair as he cut.

“...You’re wearing your jacket again,” she murmured, and Butch froze for a second before he resumed. He looked away from the mirror and focused on what he was doing rather than making eye contact.

“It isn’t mine.”

“Whose--”

“Paul’s.”

Oh.

She could see Butch shift in the mirror when she didn’t respond. “Senior wanted to throw it out,” he mumbled. “He left it in the clinic, told Andy to put it in to be incinerated after…” He took a shaky breath that made Amata wonder how he was holding it together. “I doubt the rust bucket’ll even notice it’s missing.”

“I know it doesn’t mean much, but I’m sorry.”

“Nothin’ for you t’ be sorry about. It is what it is.”

Neither spoke for several minutes, not until Butch had moved to the other side of Amata’s head and pinned up the layer of hair there.

“...The report I had to give my dad was...about Paul,” she murmured. “I told him that it was his fault so many people are dead.”

Butch took another one of those shaky breaths. “You ain’t wrong.”

“I swear if I never hear ‘for the good of the Vault’ ever again, it’ll be too soon.”

“Ditto.”

“How… How are we all even going to recover? How many of us are even left?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t fuckin’ care to be honest,” Butch grumbled. “Paul’s gone. I didn’t… His dad didn’t even let me see him, not last night and not this morning.” He stopped to cover his mouth with his hand. If it were anyone else, Amata would say it sounded like his voice was about to crack. “I’ve got nothin’ down here anymore.”

Amata turned in the chair to look up at him. “Butch--”

“I’m gettin’ outta here,” he said, determined. “I’m gettin’ the fuck outta here, and I don’t care if there’s nothing, I’m not… I can’t fuckin’ breathe anymore.” His voice did crack then, and Amata gripped her hands into fists to resist the urge to reach out and comfort him. “It’s like there’s bugs crawlin’ around under my skin, I just want  _ out, _ I don’t know how you and Angharad managed to hold out this long.”

She blinked, willing away the anxiety that was starting to gnaw at her stomach. “What about us…?”

Butch snorted. “You and her. You’re...you know.” He tilted his head back and forth, like he was trying not to say the words out loud. “Surprised no one else noticed, really, but I guess no one else really knew what to look for. Takes one to know one, right?” He forced a little smile at her dumbstruck expression. “So don’t worry about me outin’ anyone.”

“Were you and Paul…?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I… I liked him for a while, and I told him, once, a few years back. He didn’t feel the same, but he didn’t get weirded out.” Butch got quiet. “Paul… He was better than that, y’know? But we’ve been--were,” he corrected himself quickly, “we were always just friends.”

That brought to mind the question of what she and Angharad were, but that was something to dwell on later. “I didn’t know there was anyone else… Wait.” Amata twisted more in the chair. “Weren’t you and Suzy a thing?”

“Yeah? And?”

“But Paul…”

“Girls aren’t so bad,” Butch said with a shrug. “Not my preference, but whatever. I’m probably closer to bi than gay, really.”

Amata flinched at the word. “Don’t just…!”

“What? It’s what it’s called.”

“Someone might hear--”

“No one’s ever around here,” Butch cut her off. When he saw the look Amata was giving him though, he sighed and said, “Fine, fine. That was all I had on it anyway.”

“Thank you.”

Butch shrugged. “Whatever. Sit back down, I ain’t done yet.”

Amata got situated back in the seat and used the mirror to keep looking at him. “Is Paul the reason you want to leave?”

His hands stuttered a second before Butch continued with the scissors. “...Yeah. He was the only one who ever really got me, y’know? Without him, the idea of being stuck down here for the rest of forever… I didn’t want that before but now I just wanna run and never look back.”

“I get that…” Amata murmured.

“What about you?”

She blinked. “What about me?”

“Angharad’s still out there somewhere. If you could find out where, you might be able to find her.”

_ DARCY. _

“Actually…” Amata dropped her voice low and looked over at the hallway. “She… She might have left me a note. I saw it on a security camera in my dad’s office. Outside, by the door.”

“For real?!” he stared at her. “You sure it was her?”

“I can’t think of anyone else it could be.”

Butch gave a low whistle. “Goddamn. That’s the best news I’ve had in weeks.”

It really was. All that was left, of course, was finding a way to get out of the Vault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but yay for updates? Thank you again to everyone who's still reading this :3
> 
> Chapter title is from the first line of "Pride and Prejudice."


End file.
